


Man of Regret

by quaker_oats



Category: Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anxiety, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-03
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2018-12-10 13:19:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 30,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11692473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quaker_oats/pseuds/quaker_oats
Summary: Abraham Woodhull doesn't entirely want to acknowledge why he ended up living on Ben and Caleb's couch but he wants off. He doesn't want to be 28 and still living with friends or with his father—definitely not his father. Going back to law school is his only option left to salvage a decent future, which proves to be difficult when he finds memories of his late brother everywhere. However, encouragement is found in the strangest of places. When Abe finds quiet refuge in a new coffee shop to study in, he does not expect to enjoy the company of Robert, the man behind the counter. Neither of them could have possibly anticipated what meeting each other means for their futures, especially since they seem to clash.





	1. Educated Fear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first chapter of what I believe will be a four-five chapter long story, which might stretch out a little longer. Lots to look forward to! Tags and warnings will be updated as characters are introduced and plot points occur and small warnings will hopefully show up in the notes before chapters. If you'd like me to adjust that in anyway or have me add any additional things to the notes, just let me know! This chapter sort of features what can be seen as an anxiety/panic attack, so if that's not your jam, it's totally chill to click off!  
> That's it from me! Enjoy!

Abe had lost track of how long it had been since he had first started sleeping on Ben and Caleb’s sofa. In the beginning, it was bleak. He’d needed to get out of that house. The breakup with Mary had been difficult and he had no one besides himself to blame for it. Not only that, Richard Woodhull had made sure Abe knew it. He’d moved back in with his father, just something temporary while he looked for somewhere else to live, but the shame in his father’s eyes, in the words that stung like daggers every time he spoke, had made Abe snap. He couldn’t take it anymore. 

Caleb took him out for a drink, listened to his drunken ramblings about how his father couldn’t stand him and it was abundantly clear that he was close to losing it. The pity of Caleb Brewster wasn’t particularly easy to obtain unless you were close but it paid well. The couch in the apartment he shared with Ben was suddenly occupied with Abe Woodhull. The arrangement had allowed him to stay for a few days, which turned into a week, which turned into a few weeks, which turned into however long he needed.

A sad, drunken decision turned into an almost welcomed arrangement. Best friends, together again, minus Anna. That was apparent in every shining moment they shared; it was just like old times but void of one of the most important members of their little group. That feeling of an empty chair was there for all of them, but none of them dared speak about it. That is unless Caleb had a few beers and lost the small filter he had. So the woman Abe had cheated with was never mentioned but always felt, making their hearts sag in happy moments, yet another thing to be tallied on the list of problems that were Abe’s fault. 

However, in the moments where Anna’s lack of presence could be felt was pushed to the back of their minds, the reunion was appreciated. They could be judgment free youths again, escaping harsh reality and ignoring the crippling aspects of adulthood. They were filled with sweet nostalgia and taken back to the time where they were just boys who hadn’t tasted life yet.

This, like everything, was finite. Like practically all apartments in the city, it was small. There was one bedroom, which Ben and Caleb had already shared, one bathroom, and a combined kitchen and living space, barely fit for two people, much less three. Not only was everyone becoming a little on edge, but a long felt guilt Abe experienced since the accident bubbled up again. There was hardly an arrangement that he had where he wasn’t feeling sorry for himself and readying himself for the judgment of those affected. He was an adult, they were all adults, and he still didn’t have a job or a place of his own. What 28-year-old needed to crash on couches for a place to live? Abe brought up that he wanted to go back to school a couple times and then they all started helping him make plans. He got a couple jobs that paid decent, dipped a little into what was left of his savings, and with some help from Ben with figuring out loans, he was able to go back to Columbia Law and finish what he’d started. When he’d got back in, they’d all pitched in and bought the fanciest cheap champagne they could find on the shelves and celebrated.

It was all well and good until Abe remembered why school could be a problem. That surge of inspiration to get his guilty ass of their couch was shrouded but the memory of Thomas. He’d dropped out of Columbia after his brother’s death, overcome with grief and need to at least attempt to console an inconsolable father and, of course, not receiving any solace in return from his relative. That’s another time he was stuck in that house, the two remaining Woodhulls swimming in their own sludge of sadness. This went on for months and Abe was haunted by a thought, much like his brother’s ghost, a thought that said,  _ This would already be better if it were you instead. _ Thomas was the favorite and for good reason, Abe thought. He always knew exactly what to do and exactly when to do it. If it were Abe, they’d grieve and get back to their lives. Thomas would have helped them out of it so much quicker, or at least that’s what they thought. Abe knew his father thought Thomas was the more helpful of the two and he grew to believe it as well.

Mary had been the one to get Abe out of his father’s house that time. She was an old girlfriend of his brother’s, Richard approved Abe thought she was cute and she was his saving grace. She was the one to see that he’d been chipped at and chipped at, weathered away until he was near crumbling. Mary, always willing to help, always willing to talk, and always with good intentions. Awkward at first because of the circumstances, but a comfort. They dated, and in typical idiot Abe Woodhull fashion, he ran into Anna. Things got complicated.

As he sat on the couch that last night, Thomas’ ghost found him, keeping in his thoughts, reminding him of what had happened the last time he’d been at Columbia. Going back to school suddenly seemed worse than every nightmare he’d had after the tragic event occurred. The thoughts began right after that night of celebration. He didn’t pay them much mind at first, allowing them to fester and grow until the night before he was off and it was too late to fix anything. 

He didn’t realize he was shaking until he went to take a drink and could hardly keep the glass up without water spilling everywhere. That physical manifestation was confirmation that his fear was very real and had already taken over and that everyone who looked could see. The room began to heat up, surely turning his face red if he weren’t unintentionally holding his breath and giving himself a blue hue, in addition to the pale and somber complexion he donned. That water would be useful if the cool liquid would just reach lips but unfortunately, those lips were sealed tight into a pale line and malfunctioning limbs prevented such action anyway. 

Realizing Ben’s eyes had been scrutinizing him this whole time certainly wasn’t any help, making Abe’s small frame shrink even smaller into the couch. He wished it would just swallow him whole and he’d never be seen again, suffocating with lost coins in between the cushions. Ben’s expression, no matter the time, was normally held back and serious, concern was always so easy to see with him. He went to look at Caleb, who’d been paying attention to the TV like they were all supposed to and hadn’t noticed, the same sparkle in his muddy eyes as always. However, he followed Ben’s gaze to Abe and suddenly they both matched, wearing the same concern. The attention only made his skin unbearable, the urge to crawl out of it seemed more and more compelling. What made it worse: the kind eyes of Caleb Brewster filling with worry, perhaps even a little pity staring at his shaking form. Abe hated that more than anything.

“Woody?” Caleb’s tone was also laced with that same unease as his eyes. Abe’s ears filled with a dizzying white noise in response. “Woody, what’s wrong?”

This hadn’t been the first time they’d had to  _ deal  _ with Abe like this. Or at least that’s what it felt like to him, them having to  _ deal  _ with him, to take care of something that wasn’t their responsibility, a friend who couldn’t take care of himself. Those thoughts worsened his state, keeping his lips shut tight as if being quiet long enough would get them to drop it and think that nothing was wrong. Abe knew that wasn’t the case. He’d always been scared of the smallest details, ever since they were kids and especially later on into teen years. His behaviors were hard to pick out or predict and it always left everyone so worried and he hated it. After Thomas, it was worse and more frequent.

Caleb had always been particularly good at helping. They all were, but Caleb was good with talking, touching, and Ben held him back if Abe needed space. And Abe could feel Ben’s eyes still studying him, watching for reactions, going up and down to check on things. That’s always what he’d been good at. Hell, Ben had been good at everything; family, school,  _ life _ . Ben had already finished school, already finished Yale, had a job and a place of his own.  _ Why can’t you just be like that Tallmadge boy? _ the voice of his father from years ago echoed in his head. Always more approving of the honors student who was the manifestation of perfection rather than his own son. Ben wouldn’t be in this position, he was too good. These kinds of definitive statements filled Abe’s head, growing louder and louder along with the disapproving tone of his father’s voice. 

“Is it about tomorrow, Abe?” Caleb’s voice was soft, quiet, but still so distinguishable from everything else. It just sounded like…Caleb. It was something Abe could focus on so everything crowding his mind wasn’t so noisy. Caleb had always good at being the loudest thing in the room, the thing you wanted to pay attention to. You could tell he couldn’t help it, too, he was just like that. Constructed with a little drop of sunshine as well as snips and snails and puppy-dogs’ tails, just to make him shine brighter than everyone else.

Abe managed a slow nod, joints in his neck obviously rigid and difficult to move. A tin man, frozen in time and rusted over. Rust. A good way to describe whatever covered him now. He was too old and rusty to be doing whatever he was trying and only making it worse by doing so, unable to move forward and wishing it were possible to move back, trapped in a painful limbo and begging for something to come along and fix it. 

“Do you want to tell me about it?”

A hard swallow somehow got around the lump that had formed in Abe’s throat, allowing just a bit of air through in shaky breaths. Words were more difficult, but he managed to choke out an, “I can’t do it.”

It sounded juvenile, but there was no way to put into words the guilt and fear that was erupting from his stomach, pounding in his mind and would surely leave him with a frighteningly awful headache. Abe certainly couldn’t describe it in his condition, his mind betraying him. Right, going to Columbia the next day but only able to form four word sentences at times. Insulting himself in his mind felt somehow felt like rationalizing the situation to Abe, making everything clearer as if the reasons behind this were finally being brought to light and he would finally get the justification he needed in being upset with himself. Of course, it would only make it worse, entrenching him further into the fear. 

There was a short pause, Caleb looking at him for a long moment with an unwavering expression. Abe couldn’t decipher what it was. Maybe he was thinking of a response or giving Abe time to say more or it could have been more pity. That’s what Abe hated most. Sometimes Caleb’s pity was constructive, it usually was, like how he’d had the opportunity to live with them for so long. However, in times like these, there wasn’t much he could do for Abe and he knew it, everyone knew it, it wasn’t a problem that could be fixed like that. It was just Caleb feeling sorry for him, worrying about him, and Abe thought he shouldn’t have to; he didn’t want to be that burden.

“‘Course you can do it, Abe.” It was Ben speaking now, hesitating a bit but completely serious as always. “You already have.”

“I quit, remember? That’s why I’m doing it again in the first place.” Abe’s words came out in short bursts. He’d suddenly acquired a stutter that made it even more difficult to speak. His tone came across angrier than intended, but he wasn’t mad at Ben or Caleb, he was angry with himself for doing this, for thinking he could do this in the first place. The thought that he had to repay them for the champagne crossed his mind with a dash of defeat. 

“So?” It was Caleb again. Abe couldn’t bear looking at those eyes. They were so warm, so considerate. At first glance, Caleb wouldn’t seem like the most considerate type. Reckless and loyal, sure, but not considerate. With his friends it was different. It had been made very clear over the years that he’d do anything for them, sacrifice his own comfort, get into serious trouble (not that he didn’t already do that). On several nights ranging from only slightly sober to the furthest thing from lucid, it had been said by himself that he’d die for them. While laughs and giggles had accompanied that statement, they had no doubt that it was true. The safety and security Caleb Brewster provided was usually a welcomed and warm thing, but now it seemed so unnecessary to Abe. That thought again,  _ He shouldn’t have to be doing this, why doesn’t he stop? Why won’t he just stop? _

“So I can’t go back! I can’t do it!” 

All of his muscles had been frigid and still, locked into place with the exception of how his whole body shook as one unit. Otherwise, he was stuck in place, the statue of a tin man again. Now Abe couldn’t help but fidget. In a series of swift and clumsy movements, his head fell in his hands, fingers pulling at hair and scraping across the skin of his forehead. If the couch wouldn’t take him, maybe burying himself in his own hands would give him the privacy he desired, give him the opportunity to hide away and regain composure. It didn’t, to say the least. With another swift movement, he sat back enough for one hand to surge forward and grab his glass of water. Finally, the liquid touched his lips, but it did not cool him down or force the lump down his throat. Any relief provided was immediately swept under the rug which only made his panic worse. Nothing would help, it seemed, he was doomed, he’d perish on this very couch. At least then he wouldn’t have to go back to that dreaded campus the next day. 

Nevertheless, he couldn’t completely give up hope. No matter how appealing it sounded to just collapse on the couch and never leave, the way he’d responded to Caleb was only making the situation worse for all parties. Ben and Caleb didn’t deserve that, they didn’t deserve any of it. With another swallow, Abe heaved a great sigh, letting stagnant air settle in his lungs, nothing suited for the living, something that felt suffocating but bearable. He was useless if he couldn’t carry on the conversation, so he continued, words calmer this time.

“It will just end up like last time.” 

“No, it won’t, Abe.” Ben piped in again. Abe hated the way they said his name over and over again as if it would keep him tethered to earth. In a way, they were right, only another reason for him to despise it. With the mention of his name came attention and the last thing he wanted was attention on this, the something that seemed so private and yet his own body had given him away. “What happened last time wasn’t your fault, it wasn’t anyone’s fault.”

_ Wasn’t it? _ That thought sent an immediate stabbing pain to his heart. Everything was too much to handle, it always had been, and it always would be. No matter what Abe did, no matter where he ran, whether that be home or back to school, he could never run away from the storm always brewing inside of his chest, taking him over, the damp stink of disgust and shame and regret slowly making him rot and deteriorate from the inside out. He could see the symptoms of such a thing in the morning, his pale and patchy skin that contrasted with persistent bags under his eyes that only brought them out more, made all of his baggage known on his face. Instead of saying the words allowed, Abe just sat still again, his own arms around himself as his chest slowly continued to cave in. He stared at the carpet, painfully aware of Caleb and Ben’s eyes on him, but trying to pretend he was the only one there, just like he did in his dreams when Thomas showed up. They knew he’d thought it, they could tell from his face, from his history, from every single thing about him and that infuriated him. An open book, an open basket case.

“Woody, you can do it, we know ya can.” Caleb’s words dripped with sympathy like slime coming from his lips. It worsened the pounding in Abe’s head.

“How would  _ you _ know? You’ve never been.”

It came out before Abe could help it, before the thought was even formed. He immediately regretted it, a knot tightening in his stomach. His friends offered kindness and he’d met them with insult that was totally unwarranted and untrue. Ben was horrified, to say the least, looking at Abe as though he would physically kick him out at any moment. Caleb, surprisingly, was more subdued, different from how he would be if someone who wasn’t as close had said something like that. He looked away, anger in his eyes but he closed them for a moment, making it clear he didn’t feel the need to lash out, knowing that his friend didn’t mean it. He displayed an ironic and pained grin and a low chuckle at Abe’s words, biting his lip as a replacement to giving Abe a piece of his mind. There was a brief silence between them where all that could be heard was the distracting and inappropriately timed sounds of the TV that was still on before Abe let out a quiet apology into the still air and another beat before Caleb spoke again.

“Yeah, I don’t know much,” he said it in a clearer tone, slightly insistent and definitely authoritatively. “I know nothin’ about what you’ve got going on, but I do know this: you’re still stuck on what happened. You’ve got every right to be, but you’re ready to face it. You have been for awhile, Abe.”

“I’m not going to be any good at it,” Abe responded. It wasn’t clear if he was avoiding Caleb’s point or if he was directly addressing it. 

Ben, who’d calmed down since Abe’s outburst spoke again, tone level, “You’re going to be just fine, I promise you-“ 

“I have to do better than that!” His words were desperate now, trying,  _ pleading _ with his friends to see what he did and let it go, leave him be. “I have to do good, don’t you see? I have to  _ be _ good!”

The flood gates opened. Every memory of everyone around him excelling in something that mattered to them while Abe was lost came back. How he couldn’t fulfill what was expected of him, he could never do that, they way his father looked down on him on days when he’d received his report card or when whatever team he was on lost or when he’d done something wrong. There were the looks he’d given Thomas, the pride that was never there when he looked upon his other son. Ben had gone off to  _ Yale _ , one of the most prestigious schools in the country, Caleb had at least found something he liked and was good at in fishing. Even Anna, stuck at home, ran a successful local business. Abe couldn’t even finish his law degree and he was about to give up on it again. Everything swirled together into a big sea of bad that he couldn’t swim out of, caught in a riptide like he had been one summer when they were kids, pulled out into the ocean. His breath caught in his throat preventing him from saying any more. 

“As good as Thomas?”

It hadn’t seemed like anyone had actually said it as if it was just another thought that flew through Abe’s mind and snagged on his heart and pressed on his lungs, and that’s what he thought it was. However, when he looked up he saw Caleb with expectant eyes, awaiting an answer. He had actually said that, and Abe wanted to kill him for it, wanting to lunge at him with his hands at his own friend’s throat. But he didn’t really want to, he sank, words less desperate than before.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Hm.” A small hum of false acknowledgment from Caleb, an almost sarcastic sound and he looked to the ground and nodded, arms crossed. “Listen to me, Abe, because it’s important and I can’t watch you hurtin’ yourself with this anymore.  _ You are not Thomas. _ I don’t know where you got the idea that you had to be him, maybe from your ass of a father or you made it up yourself after he passed on or maybe a little bit of both, but you aren’t him. You didn’t do nothin’ wrong in what happened and you shouldn’t be expected to fill in, don’t ever let anyone make you think that. Now, here’s what you’re gonna do: you’re gonna go back to school, just like you planned. You’re gonna get your degree, hang it on your own wall like Benny does on ours, and you’re going to live your life.  _ Your _ life, Abe, not Thomas’. You got it?”

There was a moment where Abe couldn’t move again just like before. His lips were sealed shut as the rest of his muscles tensed and he didn’t blink until the blurriness in his vision became too much and heavy, ugly tears threatened to fall. Slowly and extremely carefully, he nodded, reassured by Caleb’s definitive words that put the situation into perspective just a bit. Perhaps it had been that someone had put words to his thoughts that he didn’t realize anyone knew, discounting them and assuring him they weren’t true and that he could beat them. He could do it, Abe could do it, Abe could beat them. Or at least he hoped to God he could. Second chances could be a good thing and that’s what he was giving himself, that’s what Ben and Caleb had helped give him. After all, he’d swam out of that tide all those years ago. And while that wasn’t similar in any sense, putting it into that context, it seemed at least doable,  _ survivable.  _ The pounding of his pulse in his head began to dissipate, slowing as the flow went back to normal allowing his jaw to unclench and give him some relief from the headache that had caused him so much pain. 

“You doin’ better, Woody?” Caleb’s tone was back to the one of concern and sympathy from before, but it seemed more earnest and genuine to Abe than before. It no longer made his blood boil and his skin feel too tight. It was real, it was Caleb. When he looked up he could see Caleb could also see that he’d recognized this change, his eyes lighting up with the familiar and comforting sparkle that they usually came with. “Atta-boy! Come ‘ere!”

Hugging was really only Abe’s thing under certain circumstances. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the contact, quite the contrary. It was just that certain kind of affection wasn’t something he normally initiated and didn’t always offer back when someone else did. Caleb, on the other hand, had always been one for affectionate touches and he was always very good at them. Over the years, Abe had grown to appreciate his embraces. So when the strong arms of Caleb Brewster wrapped around him, he didn’t resist. Caleb expressed things with his whole body, with all his features. Abe was pulled into his chest and found pride swelling there, something that had always been comforting, sometimes signaling for him to allow himself to feel the same pride at getting himself out and calming down. He squeezed back, smiling a thin and crooked but genuine smile, the first one in what seemed like a while. When they finally parted, Caleb’s hands found their way to their spot on where Abe’s jaw connected with his neck, studying his face as a familiar, wide grin spread across his face. 

“Okay, I’ll go back,” Abe said, voice slightly tired from yelling and expression a little sheepish. “At least I can finally sleep on something other than this damn couch.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was the end! The next chapter will hopefully come out before the next episode, but I have no upload schedule. So it may come sooner or it may come later. For more consistency, I'll probably make a schedule when all the material is 100% edited and that'll depend on engagement and how you guys respond to everything.  
> So let me know! Feedback is always appreciated and I'm excited to continue on with this! This is sort of my first serious, multichapter fic so anything you've got to share with me is appreciated.   
> What's to come-  
> Next chapter, our other lead will be introduced! Very exciting to see how these two will interact. Hopefully, I will do him justice. My goal is to do all the characters justice, especially since the show's ending so soon and I want to show my support. 
> 
> If you want to contact me, my tumblr is abe-woodhull.tumblr.com I post some funny stuff over there. See you in the next one!


	2. The Barista

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abe needs to find a quiet place to study that isn't haunted by his brother's ghost or the image of old friends that have been long abandoned. Everywhere he goes, he runs into his past and he cannot possibly work on school work with those distractions. Luckily, there's a coffeehouse that opened up after he left with the perfect sort of distraction he needs. Even so, mysteries that Abe is eager to discover seem to thrive there. He's especially interested in the ones hiding in the barista's eyes.

As expected, starting school up again had not been a smooth transition. It started with the apartment. Abe moved in a week before classes started, just to get settled. Caleb and Ben had helped move his stuff in, to keep his mind off the daunting tasks they were performing and the implications behind it; that he wouldn’t have that support structure and he’d be on his own. Their purpose as a distraction wasn’t said but was a silent agreement.

Somehow, it was far worse than the first time he’d moved out to attend Columbia. Although, that could be expected. When he’d first moved, it was an escape from his father after years and years of build-up where a teenaged Abe had sworn that he’d move out as fast as he could. The look of pride on Richard’s face that day when he gave his son up to a future in a promising law career was unrivaled. Now, the circumstances were far different. He had much more to lose and he was far less naive.

Even so, Caleb and Ben had made sure the day had been full of laughs, beer, and bruises from knocking into poorly placed furniture. The day was full and bright as if he could breathe in the sunbeams streaming in through the windows. Big emotions filled his lungs and pushed at the inside of his chest, making it swell. He was used to that kind of pleasant discomfort. At least it was better than the alternative, which was the cavernous spiral of the discomfort overpowering him. But, this brief happiness was often misleading. Usually, his surroundings tricked him into being happy about this situation. However, everything seemed to be over in a flash. Sometimes it seemed his friends were like that; huge energy and big events, large strokes of vibrant color on the canvas of a day and then it was over and they were gone, leaving Abe by himself to deflate the balloon of his chest on his own.

That feeling of emptiness as he laid down to sleep felt equally filling in a way. Perhaps just overwhelming, decaying the inner walls of his ribs instead of pressing against them. While others often seemed fairly objective when it came to navigating life, Abe always felt rather subjective. A subject of his emotions rather than the owner. It was moments like these where he hated it. Just hours before the place had seemed alive, everything on fire and now he was being burned. Poets could write hundreds of works about passion, but what he seemed to possess was rather destructive. No matter how he tossed and turned, there wasn’t a position where he was comfortable, much less able to actually fall asleep. He spent the night in a state of limbo, his mind floating while his body sank into the bed, anchoring him there and somehow making his way through every feverish second without being blown away like dust in the wind. Nights in the apartment would prove to be consistently similar.

Days were not exactly an improvement. He was in New York City, and yet he was trapped in his bedroom. There were endless possibilities outside of his door but God forbid he bring himself to open it. The sorry sight of Abraham Woodhull only seemed to be getting worse. Now the light that came through the windows just showed off the unsettled dust that swam through the air and occasionally it felt that he was just another speck or maybe another piece of furniture for the dust to collect on. There were a lot of ways to compare him to dust. _Well, it’s a big, big city and it’s always the same…_

Finally, _dear God finally,_ classes started. They were an excuse to get out of the house where every bad feeling had begun fermenting, brewing like the beers in his fridge. The determination from before sparked up again, setting a fire under his ass and an excuse to throw himself into something that wasn’t his own mind. Even so, they also presented problems. He’d already gotten his bachelor’s, and his LSAT scores were all in line, so he just had to get through law school, which he had dropped out of in his first year. Three years couldn’t possibly be so bad, right? The issue that Abe had not taken into account was that he was older than everyone in his classes. It was only a minor inconvenience on the surface, but it also meant that there was no way in hell he would be attending any study groups. He convinced himself that he wasn’t here to make friends, that he was an adult and shouldn’t need help, but it only added to the isolation.

Studying was another issue. Abe had always been an average student, a little ahead when he tried his hardest and a little behind when he slacked. A lot of conflicting factors came together and pushed him into getting good and convincing enough to get into Columbia, even when it left him burnt out. Nevertheless, he was never particularly good at studying or note taking, relying on Ben most of the time, much to that Tallmadge boy’s dismay. Now, he didn’t have Ben and was far too out of practice. He’d open his books and notebooks, seeing crumpled pages, half-finished highlights, and words written so quickly he could hardly read his own already atrocious handwriting. Squinted eyes began the long and tiring task of scanning over the jumbled words and trying to decode them. A frustrated sigh came along with every spot of smudged ink.

Abe could barely breathe in the apartment— _the_ apartment, not _his_ apartment—much less study, which certainly didn’t help. He’d tried the library and wasn’t about to chance going there again. The place was too familiar and yet not familiar at all. So recognizable that it washed him in nervous energy that he couldn’t identify. It was a library, but everything seemed so loud, every little sound was multiplied and sent him closer to the edge. The ghosts of past friends appeared, making Abe remember that this was his old study spot. Memories of peers came flooding back as he saw spots where they’d avoid books to talk about classes and futures and teachers they despised and family. All these people were long abandoned, dropped after the accident. Even if Abe _wanted_ to call them, he’d deleted all their numbers a long time ago when he kept receiving calls from friends expressing their condolences. Needless to say, he didn’t get anything done in the library so he didn’t return.

After a few searches on Yelp and some time feverishly walking around to avoid his apartment, he found a coffee shop that, according to reviews, had ‘good ambiance’ and was far enough away from campus that he wouldn’t be seeing anyone that could possibly recognize him from classes. Not that people paid attention to him there, but he didn’t want to run the risk. Deciding it wasn’t such a bad idea, he took his chances and hopped a cab. As he strolled in, he realized this was probably not where he was meant to be. He hadn’t considered the neighborhood and found that it was surrounded by office buildings. Of course, he’d come during lunch hour. It’s not a surprise that Abe didn’t fit in a flock of white collar business people, at least not yet. As soon as he saw the crowd, he felt like turning back, but this was his last resort and the library was no longer an option.

The feeling of all eyes being on him was not a new one. Unfortunately, he thought he’d grown out of the worst of it after his teens. Evidently not. An old habit of his resurfaced, his eyes darting around to see if anyone was glancing at him, sneers marking all the patrons’ faces. His gaze fell to the floor, brushing over the beat up leather jacket and a tarnished t-shirt he’d arrived in as well as not-purposefully distressed jeans and shame washed around the coffee shop. Abe floated through the room, legs moving as an afterthought. The homey atmosphere was suddenly too warm, browns of the wood blending together with blurring vision, faces inhabiting the space becoming menacing. No, he was better at handling this now, he was being ridiculous, he knew that. No one could possibly care that much about a man who just looked a little bit like he didn’t belong.

“Can I help you?”

His surrounding were so distracting that Abe didn’t realize it was his turn in line, only noticing when the man behind the counter, who moved surprisingly quickly, spoke up. Abe only had a short time to murmur out a quick apology before his breath hitched as he looked up at the employee. He seemed a bit too old to be working there, just by a couple years. Perhaps that was the exhausted look in his eye that made him seem older, but it was unlikely. Those eyes held more than just exhaustion at his job, as Abe notices when they glide down the leather jacket as well, all the way down to the ratty jeans and sneakers with heavy disapproval. Abe’s tardiness to get to the point could only make the situation worse. His eyes found Abe’s again, narrowing a bit as his eyebrow rose slightly, indicating that they didn’t have all day.

“Sorry, yes.” Abe’s words came with an awkward cough and his eyes averted to the board above them with the menu written on it with paint attempting to resemble chalk on a chalkboard. “Can I just get a small coffee?”

Immediately, the man’s attention went to the register. Abe was grateful that the scrutiny of his clothes was over but left confused by the sudden lack of attention. Apparently, he’d forgotten that the man had a job to do.

“Name?”

“Abe.”

“That’ll be right out,” he said. Every word he’d spoken so far had been quick and monotone. This statement, in particular, sounded as though he hated the whole thing, done with false hospitality he wasn’t even trying particularly hard to present. Left confused by the notion, Abe at least attempted to display politeness that seemed to be missing.

“Thank you…” Abe looked down to his name tag for confirmation before continuing, “Robert.”

He swore he saw _Robert_ roll his eyes, but tried not to pay attention to it. Robert definitely wanted him gone as fast as possible, just serve him coffee and make him leave. It seemed personal when they knew each other’s names and he wanted absolutely no intimacy. The attitude was precariously displayed in each line of his expression.

Finally, Abe slipped into a chair at an empty table and allowed himself to think over the interaction, convincing himself that it was nothing special. But however much he reconciled it in his head, something just seemed off about the guy, giving Abe vibes that anyone else would ignore. He would attempt to do so as well, remembering that he also had a purpose as he pulled books from his bag. The reviewers were right, the place did have quite the special atmosphere. If he’d come a bit later, he’d miss the lunch crowd. Abe predicted that at that time the soft activity would be just enough to distract him from intruding memories and allow him to finally get some work done. Walking in had been a stressful and disorienting experience but the place could be turned into a kind of safe haven. The image was engaging, allowing him to slip into the first paragraph when-

“Abraham.”

At first, Abe almost hadn’t recognized it. Hardly anyone called him Abraham, save for his father and a few older folks who knew him as a child, but he’d caught it just in time to look up. Apparently, the man behind the counter had said it quite a few times, giving Abe a pointed glare as he scrambled up from his seat. Abe’s mind scrambled as well, trying to think if he’d accidentally told Robert his name was Abraham and the implications of that situation. Maybe his mind was trying to tell him he should call his father— later. He’d think on that later.

“Sorry about that,” he said with a sheepish smile. “And the name’s Abe. For next time, I mean.”

Robert had already looked away, preparing coffee for the next customer. He faltered in his movements only for a millisecond and he pulled himself together as quickly as he had momentarily stopped, but Abe could see the small sigh that he suppressed. “Next time?”

“When I come back, I mean.”

Another pause, enough time in that snap second for Abe to think about what an idiot he’s being. _If you don’t have something important to say, don’t say anything at all._ Maybe his subconscious was telling him that he should call his father. Robert nodded, looking at Abe for a second from the side before turning back to his work.

The rest of his time went by without incident. Once he adjusted, Abe hardly had any further problems. Eventually, the eyes seemed to slide off him as he started reading again. The air was refreshing, the coffee scent washing out and taking over stressed lungs. It was the first time since he’d arrived that he’d been able to get any actual work done. Prayers were something he’d lost long ago, but he gave his hypothetical God an ironic nod, grateful for finding this little corner of heaven. Well, as close to heaven a coffee shop in the city could get. Of course, he was a bit less grateful when he considered the prices of some of the more complicated menu items as well as the taxi fare and comparing them to the room left in the budget Ben had spent so long helping him with.

 

* * *

 

With friends so close in the city, it was surprisingly difficult to reunite with Ben and Caleb again. They had jobs, he had a job. He had class when they had breaks. Caleb was between odd jobs when Abe finally got a night off. Unfortunately, Ben was, as usual, too busy and had promised to join them the first chance he was able. Even missing an important member of their trio, it had been the first time they were able to meet up since putting together the apartment, so Caleb wasted no time in taking Abe to the best bar in their price range. While on their way he slipped a few comments on getting Abe actual liquor and Abe had to keep a comment about stale Sam Adams cans sitting in his fridge to himself.

But by God, was Caleb right. Having something _real_ that deserved more than to be poured into the red solo cups that littered around trash bins on campus after particularly loud nights was something Abe had taken for granted and never would again. The smug smile on Caleb’s face indicated that he knew just what his friend was thinking by the relieved expression in Abe’s eyes paired with a sigh as the taste hit his tongue. Not often was Abe one to care too much about taste, but somehow this was an exception.

He was excited for more than just good liquor, though. Caleb was a constant after weeks of inconsistencies, giving Abe another kind of relief. Even that shaggy beard of his can’t hide his overpowering grin, his eyes crinkling in the corners to the point where they almost squeeze shut. The low light of the bar had hidden some of the green tones in Caleb’s muddy eyes, but Abe can still make them out, against all odds, it seemed. The familiarity of that smile as Caleb asked how things were felt warm, just like the expression itself and just like the man before him. It was the only thing familiar that didn’t seem a threat. The library was familiar, the classrooms were familiar, the campus was familiar, the silence was familiar. Caleb was familiar but brought him to a state where he could relax whereas everything else had put him on edge. Of course, Abe would forget to mention that after the alcohol had soothed his mind enough to let the negative thoughts slip to the back of his mind.

“Meet any new people?” Caleb said, grin unwavering. His expression didn’t change but his intentions did. He was more than intrigued. Abe hadn’t described much, but he’d gotten out how empty the apartment was and how campus seemed so far away from the real world. He didn’t mention that the ‘real’ world was the one without Thomas in it while campus blended in with the world where his brother still breathed the same air. Caleb could only infer and got only a glimpse into the isolation, but was still concerned for Abe’s well being, knowing his friend wasn’t particularly good under certain kinds of pressure.

Abe didn’t notice the new layer of worry in Caleb’s tone. Instead, relaxing into the zen while his own voice took on a still serious, but louder and more excited state, just like it used to before everything. Caleb took note of this, but said nothing, just letting it fuel the happiness.

“Well . . .” Abe took a second to think, a focused look on his face as he scratched his chin and talked over the music like it was natural for him, which it hadn’t been for awhile. “Funny story actually! I went to this newish coffee place and the guy behind the counter wanted _nothing_ to do with me-“

“Nothing new, then?”

“Sh-“ Abe gave a faux-annoyed expression, trying his best to hide the smirk that he was displaying. “His name was Robert and he was all serious but sort of interesting, you know? Like he had these eyes . . . Caleb, you would not _believe_ these eyes he had! The guy could be made of stone, for all I know. Shows no emotion at all, but his eyes were _wild!_ That’s how I know he didn’t like me, his eyes were all-“

“Woody! Get back to the story!” Caleb nodded along with every word Abe said, trying to get him to move on and chuckling at his wild hand movements and impressions of the barista.

“Okay! Okay!” Abe doesn’t notice the grin that’s broken out, but he knows he hasn’t felt this good in a while. “So I’m studying, right? Surrounded by all these guys in business clothes with nothing but my jacket, feeling like an idiot. And don’t say I am an idiot, I know. So anyway I keep hearing the same name get called over and over again and I’m starting to get really annoyed, right? ‘Get your coffee, man,’ right? And then I realize, he’s been saying Abraham the whole time! And he meant _me_ ! He called me _Abraham_ , Caleb. I didn’t even tell him I was Abraham, I said Abe! Who the hell calls me Abraham? Who’s even _named_ Abraham anymore?”

Finally, he came to a full stop, looking expectantly at Caleb. Even in the dark, his eyes held an excited sparkle in them, just a little one. Over time, his spark had faded and eyes dimmed due to tragedy. Caleb didn’t ignore it, but didn’t allow himself to outwardly show the joy it gave him to see his friend getting back together after all these years. Instead, he put on a look of fake confusion, wearing a bit of a smirk as he looked up from the floor at Abe.

“That was supposed to be a funny story?”

They both laughed at the lighthearted comment, Abe rolling his eyes and at least trying to mumble, “I thought it was funny.”

“What’s funny is that you’re fallen for a barista, of all people. And one that can’t stand you, too.”

While Caleb laughed, Abe didn’t join him, defensive now. “I have _not._ ”

“Sure, Woody. But you bothered to remember his name and would have spent the next half hour going on about his eyes if I’d let you.”

“I don’t know. I just . . . noticed, I guess.”

It was evident at this point that Abe was a little tipsy. He held his head in his hand as he leaned on his elbow, eyes out of focused and staring at nothing in particular, a small smile pulling at the corner of his lips. Caleb watched as the other man drifted out of conversation. Abe’s mind wandered to the eyes of the barista, which were liquid gold. The honey tone had been made clear as he shifted into the light pouring in through the multicolor windows of the cafe. They were dark when in shadows, but no less striking than they had been. Brown had always seemed like a dull eye color to Abe with few exceptions, Robert being one of them. One would think his mind would find its way to Anna, as it always seemed to, but in his haze he did not find the image of the dark pits that were Anna’s eyes. He thought instead on how the notion that eyes were the window to the soul and then thought that the phrase seemed to be made for Robert.

His thoughts were interrupted as Caleb’s hand clapped on Abe’s shoulder along with a signature, warm hearted Brewster chuckle, which made Abe jump back into reality. The thought slipped away until he fell into bed, where he wrapped himself in warm fascination and drifted off in confusion at the picture of the cold stare he’d received. It was the first night he’d been able to effortlessly fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took longer than expected. I believe it to be the fault of the Townhull Fic Curse in which nothing ever updates. Sorry about that! I'm about a day behind and am currently working on the next chapter! Thank you so much for your patience.  
> There was a little Fratellis' reference from Whistle for the Choir if anyone was wondering where the line "Well, it's a big, big city but it's always the same," came from.  
> Again, feedback is welcome! It's so cool to see people's response to what's going on!  
> What's to come-  
> Fathers will be coming into the picture and the consequences of such will be brought to light. Checkers will be played and Abe will discover a little more about what Robert's hiding in his eyes. 
> 
> Find me on tumblr if you want to get in touch! And I try to respond to all the comments!  
> Thank you for reading! I really appreciate it!


	3. Trust in Games

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abe receives a call from his father which should leave him sour for the rest of the day. However, after a strange visit to the coffee shop and an odd interaction with Robert, who seems to be acting slightly out of character, he's left able to go about his life unaffected by the call. An unlikely routine blossoms when the student and the barista talk over regular games of checkers, finding that they are opening up to one another, slowly but surely.

The sun, Abe discovered, was his enemy, piercing through the window and forcing early mornings after sleepless nights. Nights that were occupied by either the usual battle of grief versus will or the coffee shop, where he could stay late. It wasn’t that Abe couldn’t wake up in the mornings, but more that he didn’t want to. He was more of an accidental morning person. He’d rise the moment the sun hung high enough in the sky to peek through his window. This was from a conditioned habit to wake up for responsibilities, even if he didn’t have them; a sort of subconscious nervousness that he _had_ to be up. No matter how achy his bones or heavy his eyes, Abe got up to join the living and try to ignore the sound of a waking city to avoid a headache.

Mornings were spent with a head in hands, the urge to do something, anything, was there but with no direction. This was paired with another battle, the need to strengthen his will enough to get on his feet and face the day no matter how tired he was. It was a deliciously evil cocktail made by a maniacal god whose only purpose seemed to be to give Abe misery. Sometimes it seemed like there was a guardian angel following everyone else around and the reverse stood in his corner. Perhaps it was what he felt he deserved. Early mornings would breed dark thoughts and there was nothing he could do to sleep through it. So he sat at the small table he had as a working and eating space, elbows resting on the hard surface with his hands on his forehead. It held him up, but just barely.

As Abe was in his position of morning time battle, he was disturbed by a buzz through the table. An unspeakably loud noise emitted from his phone that, in the morning haze, felt like it could peel the bark off the trees. The ringtone had quickly become the Woodhull equivalent of nails on a chalkboard. If only he possessed energy enough to go into his settings and change it. Alas, desperate times deflated any and all motivation, leaving him empty and flat. He’d learned to live with the horrid noise which, at the time, certainly didn’t help with Abe’s headache. It was that battle of will again; answer the phone like any reasonable person would or just sit still and pretend his phone didn’t even exist until he was energized enough. His willpower won.

With a groan that was made for no ears, he took the initiative to actually see who was calling. Well, rather his body did for him. An arm moved in a detached fashion, and without any real instructions or recognition of movement. It was as if he was somehow separate from himself as if _he_ were the ghost instead of the ones he felt around him. A phantom hand that somehow had to be Abe’s went to turn over his phone. The moment he saw the contact name, he regretted his decision to exert any effort. ‘Dad,’ showed up in big, blocky, boring letters on his screen and burned into his tired eyes, the pain of that being the only thing that seemed actually attached to him. Even with the irritation from the bright screen, Abe stared at it through a few rings.It was difficult to decide if he was emotionally able to have an actual conversation with his father without completely losing it.

Finally, he let out a sigh, also meant for no ears, and accepted the call with a simple, “Hello?”

“Abraham, you’ve never shown any interesting in going back to school,” his father’s voice ran through the receiver, piercing as always and straight to the point, no ‘hello’ or any sort of greeting. He never gave Abe any room, not even in conversation.

“Uh-yeah, I’ve been back for about a month.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me?”

There was a pause. These long silences always seemed like Abe’s fault, like he wasn’t smart enough to explain himself to his own father.

“How did you find out?”

A long, exasperated huff came from the other end of the phone. Abe could picture his father’s expression. A hand would slide down the side of his face, pulling at already loose skin, his eyes shut and disappointment weaved into furrowed brows. The look was familiar and it was a sign that Abe definitely hadn’t said the right thing. It made him feel 12 again, choking on his own tongue.

“Believe it or not, I’m in touch with some of your former professors,” Richard says slowly, obviously trying to keep only a healthy amount of annoyance in his voice instead of excess. “Ones seems to have spotted you on campus. When he asked about you I said you couldn’t _possibly_ be attending any classes again, seeing as you didn’t consult your father first.”

Now it was Abe’s turn to sigh, but the irritation was pointed at himself. His eyes pointed to the ground, wishing he could be having a conversation with the fibers of carpet instead of Richard. Anyone else would be preferable, really. Thinking that about his own father made him wince. It hadn’t always been that way. When Abe was younger, all he really had to worry about was getting less admiration from his father than his older brother received. Now, years later, that was still the case. Only, Abe’s accomplishments would now be compared to the hypothetical milestones of a dead brother that could only be assumed. Whatever Abe did, they’d guess that Thomas would be so much further. And unfortunately, they got automatic fiat and could not be proven incorrect.

“I was going to tell you-“

“But you didn’t.”

“I needed to make my own decision, Dad. I need to be back here. I need to get a real job and I need to get over-“ he hesitated. He couldn’t bring up Thomas, he just couldn’t. After a split second of thought, he continued, quieter than before, “things . . .”

The message seemed to come across clear, evidenced by the strained silence between them.

When his father spoke again, it was calmer, “Do try to tell me when life-altering events are happening, Abraham. And to tell you the truth, I am glad you’re continuing to pursue the law. If you need any assistance, I’m a phone call away.”

That wasn’t right. If Abe went to Richard about anything, the older man would call the problem trivial or say that Abe should be able to handle it himself. Even so, the slight pride that Richard displayed was certainly something special. He hadn’t heard it from since he’d started dating Mary.

“I will.”

“I expect to hear from you soon, Abraham.”

“You will.”

With that, the other line went dead. The note Richard had ended on made unexpected anger bubble up in Abe’s stomach. Though, could it really be called unexpected if their interaction always left Abe with the same nauseating feeling? What gave that man the right? To leave him alone, give his own son nothing but radio silence for weeks at a time and then expect _Abe_ to keep in touch. He clutched his phone tightly enough so that the ridges of the buttons on the sides would leave momentary indentations. It seemed his very stomach acid was boiling, heart pumping hot blood to the brain and making Abe overheat. Hunger didn’t help. He resolved to go to the coffee shop. Another test of will for the day: whether or not he could handle the glares from Robert after an interaction like that.

 

* * *

 

 It had taken a lot for Abe to recover enough after the call to actually get up. His bones had been heavier than before but still, he picked them up and managed to change clothes. He stopped caring about what he dressed in when going to the coffee shop. His messiest clothes were the most comfortable and comfort was the whole purpose of finding the establishment in the first place. Besides, wearing that crummy jacket of his always seemed to annoy Robert. Annoying Robert had become a game for Abe. He looked funny when perturbed. So he walked in wearing that leather jacket that was the subject of much scrutiny and the equally as ratty beanie, who’s gray hue didn’t even start to match with the rest of his clothing. Abe hadn’t bothered to do his hair that morning. Not that it took much work other than swiping a little product through short locks, but looking in the mirror suddenly seemed tedious.

It was always his intention to miss the crowd. He entered just as the last of the horde had departed, making the little bell on the door cut through the comfortable quiet and sounds of machines as Abe entered. Robert’s eyes flashed to him and then immediately back down to the counter he was wiping down. That didn’t mean that Abe didn’t notice how his chest deflated, indicating a defeated sigh. Contrary to popular belief, Abe did not solely keep his attention on Robert. (Popular belief being Caleb and Ben--who Caleb had told--neither of which could stop harassing him over the barista.) His attention turned to the rest of the room as the comforting scent enveloped him. One busy bee was left in the corner, typing wildly on his laptop, but otherwise, the place was empty.

Even with exhaustion and a bag with a severe amount of books and notepads weighing him down, Abe began to lighten with the warm blanket the shop provided as he navigated to the counter. He noted Robert mentally preparing himself for their interaction. He seemed to do it with all customers meaning it was not an Abe specific reaction, which was definitely a bummer to Abe, who was trying to find proof that he was indirectly torturing the guy. What an excellent use of what he’d learned about sorting through evidence. They went through their usual exchange, dull and tedious for both of them. Abe ordered a small coffee every day. Still, every day, Robert took the same order. And every day, Abe would look down to see ‘Abraham’ written in big, quickly written text.

This particular morning, though, Abe was interrupted when he began walking over to a separate counter to add cream and sugar to the poison that was black coffee. Robert’s voice quietly interjected, “You won’t need that.”

Abe’s hand froze before ripping open a Splenda packet, a quizzical look etched on his face.

“I already put some in.”

He looked down to find the coffee a lighter than its usual hue, confirming Robert’s story. With a shocked smile, he asked, “How much?”

Abe had said it as if he felt he’d bested Robert in whatever twisted competition he’d made up.

“ _Four._ And cream. You get the same thing every morning.”

“You pay attention to what I put in my coffee but make me tell you I want a small coffee and my name is actually Abe every morning?”

He only earned a small shrug from Robert, who looked back down at the counter and began cleaning again. Abe swore that thing didn’t need such consistent cleaning. It already shined brighter than his future. Admittedly, that seemed like a low bar to shoot for.

Robert had definitely not been bested. However, that hadn’t contributed to Abe’s morning anger. Instead, he was sort of flattered. His mood had drastically increased since he’d left the house. The change of scenery that he’d shot for weeks ago had definitely been a success, especially on days like this where he came in a turbulent tornado of stress. Successes were important for Abe to count. Especially since the previous month and the previous couple of years seemed to be built on failures for him. As he sat down, Abe melted into his chair, nursing his coffee and staring into space for a few minutes as he tried to will the caffeine into working. Eventually, he was awake enough to pull the books out of his bag and partake on that adventure again.

When he did decide to start again, he was trapped in the words of the law. When Abe was motivated and had the appropriate environment, focus was easily attained. The distraction of his books was welcomed what with the consistent reminders of what had happened the last time he attempted law school. Welcomed indeed after a call from his father. But even with the newly found hyper focus of his, he was still capable of burning out. After a few hours and after several customers had come and gone, his eyes returned from the hold of his books. His hand released the pen it was gripping unnecessarily tightly from imprisonment and the cramping became unbearable as he let it relax. Robert was the only other soul in the room, keeping himself busy with his own book. Abe’s eyes wandered from place to place, taking account of his surroundings.

The table Abe claimed every visit was strategically chosen because of its proximity to the bar and its joint connection to the counter, which Robert took solace behind. Of course, Abe hadn’t told Caleb or Ben about this; he didn’t even tell himself. Chairs, higher than the rest, were usually occupied by at least one other casual guest. His eyes fell to the checkerboard that always resided in front of one of the chairs. Regulars that Abe had seen sometimes sat there chatted with (or at) Robert and played the game while they were working. Abe needed a break. Why not?

“You play often?” he asked, walking up and taking up the chair in front of the board.

Robert looked up from the book he was reading, eyebrows raised. The other man hesitated for a moment, finally admitting to himself that he’d have to converse with Abe no matter if he’d wanted to or not. Besides, he seemed to be getting bored with his book and lack of business. He moved from his position of leaning against the counter and walked over to the other side of the bar, opposite to Abe.

“A little.”

“Want to play now?”

Another moment of hesitation, studying Abe as if to find his motive.

“Why not?”

So they played. Robert pulled up a chair across from Abe, looking down at the board with more focus that he’d ever seen the barista display. All of that was in his eyes as well and finally, Abe allowed himself to acknowledge that without being under the influence of beer bought by a cunning and persuasive Caleb Brewster who would always let Abe talk enough to spill his own secrets. Sure, the concentration had leaked into his expression. That was evidenced by the way messy brows furrowed, creating a line between them as well as the way his lips became an even thinner line as it became his turn. However, the expression was simple. His eyes grew deeper, darker than the honey tinted ones that came along with his usual bored stare. One could practically see the gears turning at a rapid pace in his head behind a clever poker face, the mystery of his mind unfolding through those windows. But what was he thinking? What stratagem was he composing that was making Abe lose so badly?

Not only that but every time he captured one of Abe’s pieces, the dark pits that had formed from blown wide pupils and dark irises seemed to brighten in some kind of delight. Maybe it was payback for all the times Abe had held up the line only to order the same thing or all the nights he’d overstayed his welcome with his studying. And every time the click of a piece hitting the tile would indicate the man across from him would be taking another piece, sparks flew in Abe’s stomach, and certainly not in a good way. Pretty soon, flames were dancing around his abdomen, anger was lava in his veins. Occasionally, Robert would look up at Abe, and the delighted look he wore only sent him deeper into the cavern of irrationality, captured by the attention of those god forsaken eyes.

It was no secret to either of them that the game was cloaked in false appeal and it was just an excuse to have some sort of tangible competition. It wasn’t just Abe making fake gambles with Robert in his head to torture the man, but it was a form of retaliation for the many cups signed ‘Abraham.’ Robert’s motivation for such a thing was still yet to be known, but it seemed to be his own way to irk Abe. Checkers was real and it had a real winner. Finally, a way to settle things.

Somehow, the fury that caused such blind anger was fascinating to Abe. Every emotion had been a routine now, for years and years on end. It was going through the motions. Any sort of complexity was pain that was shoved deep, deep within him, swallowed like teary nights that eventually disappeared when numbness took over. The routine, manifesting itself in waking up early or sitting at the table with his head in his hands, was so comfortably familiar. This new anger, this new, complex anger was beyond thrilling. Checkers was not in the routine, speaking to the barista about more than just the small coffee he ordered every day was not part of the routine, and Robert already sweetening his order for him was not part of the routine. Abe was relishing in this new world of exhilaration.

“So, where are you from?” Abe asked with a little gruffness in his voice from another piece being taken. Curiosity was just another branch of this reimagined emotional plain that he hadn't visited in quite some time.

Robert hesitated a bit as if floored by being tricked into an actual conversation with the man. Those thunderstorms disguised as eyes came up to look at Abe again, rumbling as if to indicate some sort of danger. Behind the lightning strike, Abe could see Robert’s apprehension to share. Even so, his focus drifted down to the board once more.

“Oyster Bay.” The answer was short and sweet, huffed out quickly. Eyes traveled around the board to find his former place, the piece part of a plan he’d been plotting but suddenly distracted from. He moved one forward, undoubtedly a trap for Abe.

“Long Island, then?” A different spark went off in Abe’s stomach with the realization. Oyster Bay was an hour away from Setauket, full of rich folks who wouldn’t give smaller town suburbia a glance. This had to be some guy to have grown up around houses that looked like mansions. No, with _actual mansions._ It was no surprise with the looks that Robert sometimes gave that he was used to that type of crowd. What was surprising that he was here, working day and night at some coffee shop in the city. “I’m from the Port Jefferson area, Setauket.”

“Hmm,” was the only response he was met with as Robert sank into his chair, impatiently waiting for Abe’s move.

So Abe pushed another piece forward, perhaps to make Robert more inclined to answer more questions, before saying, “What brings you to the city?”

“Business, family.”

Robert moved his piece, not bringing his gaze up again, not giving Abe the satisfaction of being the center of attention and having the chance to look directly into those eyes and get swallowed by the ravaging flames in the process. His own fires started to heat up, the warm coal jostled in his stomach when not met with what he craved. Abe was an observer, and the key to figuring out the mystery of the grumpy barista was locked behind his eyes. After he’d made his move, though, Robert had no excuse to keep his eyes on the board. From what Abe had seen, he expected the other man to do so anyway, but Robert was proving to be anything but predictable today.

He leaned back into his chair, hands clasped in his lap, and slowly looked Abe over top to bottom before his regard returned to his game partner’s face. This only made the flames in Abe’s abdomen roar louder than subdue him. Something softer could be seen in Robert’s expression, a sort of confusion seemed to have taken the man as well as a different kind of irritation than he was used to. Maybe no one seemed to care to get to know a barista so kept to himself behind his counter for the exact purpose of being ignored. Finally, he parted his lips, just a bit, to quietly mutter, “And you? You’re here in the city to . . . study, yes?”

Each word was chosen so carefully, and both men seemed to be confused that Robert had exerted the effort to leave his very agreeable comfort zone. Each syllable had a note of hesitation, holding back even though everything about the interaction seemed more open than they’d ever been together, even if Robert played it off as if he were still so reserved with a low and steady voice. After he’d asked, he physically sunk back into himself, chest heaving a silent sigh, eyes boring holes into the game even though nothing was in play. Conversation didn’t seem to be particularly natural to him, especially not with a customer, much less one that he pretended didn’t exist whenever the bell at the door signaled his arrival. This is what came with his agreement to play and Abe couldn’t tell if Robert regretted that decision or not.

“Uh—yeah, actually. Came for school.” Abe’s lips quirked into a smile without his permission. For what reason, he wondered, but he didn’t have much time, just giving himself the excuse that he was being polite. “I’m going back to law school after . . . too long, I guess.”

That response was met with a small nod, lips sealed as eyes scoured the board for a distraction from the situation. The entire interaction seemed painfully strategic on both ends, each man withholding something and avoiding something else. Still, the game progressed. Abe found himself leaving for class that day having not gotten much done but somehow feeling refreshed, as he often did when leaving the coffee shop. However, this was something else. The call from his father that would normally have left his day spoiled didn’t touch him the way it usually should have. Rather, it seemed a passing, minor annoyance instead of a catastrophic event. Whenever it threatened to push him over the edge and have him swallowed by a pit of self-sorrow, he’d just think back to the odd game of checkers and Abe would find his lungs clean, breath easily coming.

They played more games after that. So many that one day Abe entered the coffee shop and found Robert, still leaning against the counter with his book, but now closer to the bar. The board was already set up and as Abe sat down in front of it, Robert moved and revealed his usual order and handing him his coffee. When met by a small glare from Robert, Abe silently agreed not to make fun of him or point out that he actually did like their games. Besides, his full name was still written on his order. There seemed to be some things Robert would refuse to give up.

A normally silent coffee house was now filled with clicks of pieces finding tiles and occasional conversation between the two, no matter how foreign that was of a concept for them. They learned about each other. Abe would often come in grumpy after contact with his father, and Robert would let him vent while he waited for the coffee to kick in. In exchange, Robert would reveal only bits about his family, trivial things about plans that his father would be coming or he would be visiting his hometown or sisters.

Abe may have also let little details about the complicated status of his relationship, which eventually lead to his secrets spilling. Robert listened to details about the childhood friend, Anna Strong, making a reappearance and making Abe weak. He’d watched the shame that made Abe cave in on himself as he recounted the story of the breakup and lovely, loving Mary who just wanted a happy life that Abe couldn’t seem to provide.

“So what about you, then?”

Robert looked up, an eyebrow raised, a look Abe was familiar with. Apparently, he didn’t understand the question, so Abe repeated himself, “Any girlfriends?”

The closest thing to a smile Abe had ever seen grace Robert’s poker face appeared as he suppressed what had to be a laugh. Was he making fun of himself? Was he making fun of Abe? The latter seemed more likely, considering the history of their odd . . . friendship? If you could call it that. However, Abe didn’t know how highly Robert thought of himself, often finding out that he wasn’t the pompous, judgy ass that Abe had assumed he was upon first meeting.

“No,” was the only response Robert offered without any elaboration, realizing that he’d almost cracked.

“Boyfriends?”

The smile had faded into something suspicious, Robert hesitating yet again. Abe thought that was hilarious, and wore a smirk, taunting the barista. Neither was sure if they had been flirting, but both would insist to the contrary.

“Not recently . . . “ Robert finally admitted.

So he was available and he was into men. Abe hated that he took note of that, especially the fact that he acknowledged the “available” part first. That dread was disguised by laughter, which unexpectedly bubbled up inside him. This was taken the wrong way on the other end of the conversation, Robert meeting him with a reserved and horrified stare and Abe realized what he’d done.

“No, no! I don’t think that’s funny! I think I’m funny, it’s just—“ He was digging himself into a deeper hole. Taking a breath, he continued, “Me neither. Haven’t had a boyfriend since maybe . . . Caleb when we were sixteen. I told you about Caleb last week, you remember.”

They fell into an uncomfortable silence, going back to just pushing pieces towards each other, thinking. When Abe looked, he couldn’t decipher what was ticking in Robert’s head. Not that he could regularly, but Robert had made sure he had no chance, keeping eye contact scarce. Abe’s thoughts, however, were so loud in his skull that it was almost as if Robert could have heard them, which would have brought him great embarrassment. He was considering whether or not that was a possibility again. Sure, he was into men, he just hadn’t acknowledged it in . . . what had to be the last time he’d gone to college. The shame came in when he considered his father’s reaction to that possibility and the fact that Abe silently thanked God that he’d only had girlfriends that he’d had to bring home. Not that Richard wouldn’t accept him, it would just take awhile to get comfortable to. Yet another distance between father and son. He hadn’t discussed it with his dad in years, and he hadn’t discussed it with himself in years.

Conversation eventually started back up, avoiding the world of relationships. However, Abe left that day with the thought of such a polarizing topic stuck in his head. The memory of Caleb’s suggestion about Robert when Abe had first told his friend about the barista found its way into his thoughts and Abe laughed at it and let it go. He tried returning to his books, but the overwhelming sensation of all those conflicting emotions continued to creep around the corners of his brain. Finally, he tricked himself into thinking a test coming up was a more pressing matter and he lost himself in his textbooks for the night, thinking about anything but Robert Townsend, the sir name that Robert had let slip one day, and their mysterious checkers games that almost confused Abe as much as this new, strange friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is definitely overdue! I was left a little dead after the finale, but I've finally recovered enough to get this up. School's starting soon and I promise I won't be giving up on this fic by any means, but I'll have to work it around my schedule.  
> So, we finally have these two talking. Maybe they don't clash as much as they originally thought.  
> What's to come-  
> We'll see more games, things will get more complicated, and Robert will want to keep Abe as far from his father as possible. Which is unlikely.


	4. Shared Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abe continues to find communication with his father to be a grand feat, normally impossible to accomplish. Yet, he finds joy in daily games of checkers. His hopeless mindset starts slipping when he considers and reflects on the advancement of whatever relationship he has with the barista. However, one day he finds that it is not Robert behind the counter, but an older gentleman who wears a kind smile and seems to know something Abe doesn't.

The slow, idle hum of the ring of the phone on the opposite end of the line could be maddening. A metronome that kept frustratingly, defeatedly slow beat that, thank God, had an end but one that would not come soon enough. Eventually, the sound morphed less of a hum and more of an intruding siren, harsh noises making every beat. There was the chance that it was just Abe’s childlike patience that made his fingers twitch and tap in response to the frustrating wait for his father to pick up the phone. Perhaps it was knowing that he wouldn’t pick up, that he was “too busy” even though he’d been the one to insist that Abe bend _his_ schedule around regular phone calls. Maybe it was the little voice of hope that said _this time he’ll pick up_ , that never proved correct. Whatever it was, the rage only multiplied when the call went to voicemail. For the third time this week. It was Wednesday.

He sighed as his father’s voice instructed him to leave a message and it sounded as if even taking the breath itself was exerting too much effort. Finally, after the man in the machine stopped talking and Abe heard the beep, he tried to put on the most neutral voice possible saying, “Hey, Dad. Just checking in. Call me back.” He’d had to start getting creative with what messages he left behind so it wasn’t the same thing every day.

He huffed as he hit the red button ending the “call,” plumes of imaginary smoke coming out of his nose and ears as if he were a dragon. Apparently, he’d been partially holding his breath while speaking as he was holding back his fire. The furnace that lived in Abe’s stomach housed bright, dangerous flames. One would need to be careful not to get too close. When licks of fire stung his insides, he voiced the tired wish to be someone who could avoid being burned. That voice in his head used to be frightening when it snuck up on him and he realized the venom seeping into his own mind, but it was in his own voice. Now, he’d begrudgingly gotten used to the occasional whisper that he’d rather be someone else, someone with the ability to keep their distance and not face the consequences of the bright passion, though still grew wearier the more he heard them. Those thoughts hid behind tired eyes, which were occupied by staring at the wall, a blank slate he craved.

Nowadays, however, there was some hope! A definitive reason as to why it was worth it to actually get up and face the day. Abe didn’t register or feel the way the corner of his lip curled upward as he remembered to set out for the coffeehouse. He would admit, if begrudgingly, that he enjoyed his time with Robert. Whatever titles they held for each other now was beyond strangers. Acquaintances? He’d dare say friend if they’d met outside of Robert’s place of business and did more than just play checkers to distract each other and stimulate some part of them that craved conversation. Robert had once said something about how he enjoyed his job but found it sluggish.

“It has its merits; order, routine,” he’d said in a casual but subdued and lazy tone as his eyes focused on the board and he moved a piece.

“I’m assuming there’s a ‘but’ somewhere in that sentence?” Abe inquired.

“ _But_ , it’s . . . dull.”

“If anyone can handle the same thing every day, it’s you,” Abe said, coffee cup in hand with the typical ‘Abraham’ written in now familiar writing. He was watching Robert rather than the game, which always annoyed the other player. It made the center of his brow crease in a way that triggered something in Abe’s chest, something that tugged his lips into the small, signature smile that he assumed was the urge to laugh.

“What’s that suppose to mean?” Abe had been right, there was the crease. Though, the teasing tone of his previous comment and implications could always have caused the annoyance.

“Nothing. Dull how?”

Robert didn’t answer until Abe moved, taking the time to think about his response. Finally, once Abe had sufficiently fulfilled his turn, Robert attacked the board, taking one of his pieces, and continued when he was free to look up again, “It’s the same every day. Everything is just white noise.”

That admission was something new and something Robert said with his eyes focused again on the pieces. Abe had noticed that not only did the expressions hidden in his eyes matter, but also where he pointed them. Whenever anything new was shared, he wouldn’t look up, wouldn’t keep eye contact. Not as if he were afraid, but as if he were trying to make it seem like it wasn’t a big deal. When he worked, he gave only as much attention as he needed to, holding a bored stare with customers until the order was done. When he was serious, like when he was upset or offended, he’d stare right into Abe’s soul. It was like he had _his own_ fire inside him and he was trying to burn Abe from the inside out by throwing hot coals into his stomach and feeding the flames. Abe sometimes wanted to ask how he controlled _his_ furnace in such a precise manner, but the question was strange and personal and there was no proper way to learn it. Abe wasn’t known to keep quiet on a lot of subjects, but the idea was shoved to the back of his mind.

“I can understand that,” Abe said, scratching at his chin and trying to come up with an entirely new strategy now that he was sans two pieces.

The truth was, he could understand it to an extent, but he didn’t think he and Robert shared the same white noise. Every day, there was the same voice nagging at him, whispering in his ears or screaming in his mind, a dagger to his brain. Do this, do that, be better at this, you’re not doing that, are you serious, you should be better at that, how could you have forgotten, what would he think? The same thing over and over until he learned to tune it out enough to actually crawl through the days. Studying sometimes helped. Having work to throw himself into was good for Abe. Inevitably, he’d either be burnt out or the difficulty of the subject would just increase the volume of the nagging until all the words on the page blurred together and he’d have to slam his book in frustration as little voices told him how much better he should be.

Robert, from what little information he’d given Abe over their sessions, seemed like his white noise was more unfocused, in some regard. That didn’t reflect in the man himself. He was diligent in everything; his business, each move he took on the board, even what details he chose to reveal. He took in everything, sometimes telling Abe little details about different customers he had to deal with that no one else would pick up on. Not only that, but he was calculative in a way Abe envied. It showed he had control over his impulse which Abe could only dream of. However, all that being said, he performed tasks with a certain detachment. He cared about results as it affected him, which seemed vain and self-centered but ended up being more protective. His flat tone that only shifted in increments which was almost a reflection of how he took in details and remembered them, but didn’t care. They weren’t useful to him. Things rarely mattered. The world could pass him by in one, big blur.

While Abe was fascinated by things, Robert was indifferent. Sometimes, Abe would think on that and feel a little bit heavier about the fact that his fascination with the other man was not returned. To be fair, that interest had been a little malicious at first, but Abe shared so freely and it took Robert much more to open up about the smallest things.

Abe thought about that conversation on the ride there, happy that Robert had let that detail slip. He more focused on how he’d almost turned the game around and won. In the end, however, Robert capture his last piece, the board looking barer than it ever had. Robert won the majority of their games, usually causing Abe to scoff in protest. For some reason, winning checkers mattered. Sure, it was a game to fill time while he was taking a break from studying and trying to fill time before he had to leave for class, but Abe always got so fired up about it.

He swore once he saw the corner of Robert’s lip turn up as Abe’s shoulders bunched and contorted slightly into a heavy slouch as he squinted at the board. He was trying to figure out how he’d lost yet another round. Abe thought that maybe that’s what _he_ looked like when he made Robert irritated. The idea of that erratic but tamed happiness was certainly engaging when putting it into the context of a man who didn’t seem to care. Though, maybe it was just a smirk. Every time it happened, all the possibilities flooded his mind.

“How did you even— how is that— What?” Abe sat on the edge of his seat, nearly making the chair tip over, even if it was sturdier than the average barstool. His own hand was tangled in his hair, fingers rubbing at his scalp as if to rake his brain for the answer as to how Robert’s strategy slipped by him.

He looked up and there was that almost warm look, gold in deep, brown eyes, cream swirled in coffee. Abe could have sworn the corner of Robert’s lip tugged upward as he looked back at him, real this time. Sure, Abe looked amusing, absolutely ridiculous in his bewilderment and definitely bested by Robert. How could someone actually be good at checkers? Who dedicated that much of their time and thought to checkers? Was he just naturally talented? So smart that strategies came so easy to him? All questions on Abe’s mind were erased in one swipe as he tried to hold onto that expression which dropped as Robert quickly and coolly looked back at the nearly empty board.

Suddenly, Abe’s phone buzzed in his pocket and the familiar sound of a timer going off echoed around the busying establishment as he pulled it out to check. Time to head back to campus. Normally, he’d thank God for afternoon classes. Not when they interrupted like this, at the exact moment where he’d been allowed to study the specimen before him. Somehow, such an action didn’t seem so clinical anymore. But, the timer had ripped through his golden opportunity.

With a crooked smile, he shot Robert an apologetic look, “Gotta go. I’ll get you one of these days, though.”

“The score is 11 to 4,” Robert reminded him, expression back to normal and tone steady. Abe knew Robert enjoyed rubbing it in his face, teasing him. Robert was familiar with the passion the took Abe over and playing with it in the smallest of ways came as naturally to him as checkers. Abe saw right through his false calm in moments like that. Little sparks still popped among the gold in his eyes.

“And it’ll be 11 to 5 tomorrow.”

“Whatever you say.”

“Thanks for the coffee,” Abe had said over his shoulder as he rushed out, holding the picture of that little look from earlier in his mind and imaging that Robert felt more comfortable wearing it now that his back was turned. A fantasy.

As the ride droned on, Abe’s mind continued going to flashes of moments.

“Why do you work such long hours?”

“I own this place. Other workers are too expensive . . . and I like working alone,” said Robert as if it were a secret.

The secrets were the best. When Robert would allow something to slip and not act as if his pride had been wounded when he told Abe something.

Those games are what Abe thought of on the taxi ride to the coffee shop. And suddenly, the false call with his father had slipped from his mind. There were games where Robert would just listen and Abe would talk about some annoying professor or go on about old friends and life back at home and there were days where Abe would rant about his father and Robert would nod along, an eyebrow raised.

There were still certain things Abe was able to keep to himself. He hadn’t told Robert about Thomas. Once he’d let it slip that he had a brother, but Robert didn’t press, he never did. There was this unspoken rule Robert seemed to have for himself, especially in regards to family, not to ask too many questions or intentionally attain too many details. Whenever Abe opened up, it would be on his own accord. This tragedy was not a wound he was ready to reopen. This acquaintance wouldn’t heal it, probably only watch it fester, maybe with a concerned glance.

There wasn’t room in his mind to harbor that thought as the world slowly moved around the cab. When it finally stopped at their destination, it took Abe a moment to realize that they’d stopped for good. Giving the driver an apologetically smile and payment, he made his way to the welcoming double glass doors, the opening to his little pocket away from the city. Perhaps it was the fact that Abe preferred the small town he’d grown up in or maybe it was the implications and memories associated with New York, but whatever discomfort he felt was normally washed away as he stepped into the bubble of warmth that somehow wasn’t suffocating.

However, something was different when he asserted himself and his overly packed bag through the doors. The space behind the counter hosted not Robert, but a shorter, older man. It was a wonder his presence replacing that of the normal barista didn’t flip the whole world upside down entirely. Instead of a dark aura tucked tight in the corner belonging to the mystery on tall legs, the older man had a cheerful expression, leaning against the counter and looking around at the little patrons that were sat in their normal places. He wore an everlasting grin, smile lines like canyons in his face saying that he was well accustomed to that smile and very familiar with the being that was contentment. His hair was longer, silvery white that shined occasionally in the light from the window. In any other place, the sight wouldn’t be odd, but it left Abe wondering where exactly the normal barista was. Hadn’t Robert said he wouldn’t hire anyone else?

Hesitantly, he walked up the counter, hand running up and down the strap of his bag in small increments. Abe tried to match the welcoming smile the man gave as his attention turned towards the suddenly skittish law student, which wasn’t entirely difficult due to the fact that his grin was so infectious. Abe’s fingers reached out to tap at the counter’s tiles before saying, “Any sign of Robert? Never seen him miss a day.”

The other man gave him a curious glance, hiding something behind a near smirk that he couldn’t wait to get out. “You wouldn’t happen to be Abraham, by chance?”

“ Abe, and yeah,” he said, trying not to roll his eyes. Whoever this man was, he knew Robert, the only other man besides his father to still call him Abraham. Every day, he’d remind Robert that it was Abe as if he’d forgotten.

“So you are the man he’s been talking all about!” the older man said, a delighted glint in his eye, immediately holding out his hand which Abe took to shake as if this were an actual meeting and not just an exchange in a coffee shop. He continued, “Where are my manners? I’m Samuel Townsend, his father. He has quite the word or two to share about you. Which is a miracle that I can get him to share at all!”

Abe laughed along with him, more of a slow chuckle as he caught onto what was happening. Robert had mentioned his father would be visiting this week. The stark difference between the men was probably what prevented Abe from putting two and two together. The image he had painted of a man that could conceivably be the father of Robert (tall, intimidating, serious, never speaking a word) was not at all what he saw before him. However, now that he knew, he could see the relation. Their eyes, though Robert’s were dark and calculative and Samuel’s were bright and all knowing, were both so expressive that they had to share genes. The thought of Robert growing up with a man like this in his life was a little amusing, but below that was a dash of jealousy.

Before he had time to think on that, Robert protruded from a door behind the counter, walking in on their shared smiles with a horrified look on his face. The snarl that set was a mix of fear, offense, and embarrassment as he tried to choke down his expression. It wasn’t clear if Robert wasn’t ready to share his father with Abe or share Abe with his father. Either way, he was a man of secrets and clearly this was too big of a story to break. Whatever he was feeling, he tried to keep his face neutral, but Abe’s secret trick of eye contact gave him all the information he needed. This was going to be glorious.

“I see you’ve met.”

His tone was steady and low as it usually was, but there was something cloaked under that conditioned exterior. Abe had made it his responsibility to find these little mysteries about the man, the inconsistencies, and the strengths. Robert was hiding fear behind discomfort which itself was hidden behind disinterest.

Samuel’s smile had tilted, pulling at one side of his lips, something that seemed knowing and somewhat mischievous. He looked over at Robert quickly and then back at Abe several times as if a gesture Abe was supposed to follow. While doing this, he answered, “Just now, yes. I’ve been wanting to put a face to the man Robert’s been talking about for so long-“

Robert wasted no time in interrupting, Abe thought he was panicked behind it all, “Actually, I think Abraham will be busy studying, _right_?”

The look Robert shot towards him with the last word could make Abe’s knees melt, but he wasn’t about to give up his torment. Here he was, finally, with the upper hand. Robert may have had an advantage when it came to checkers, but now Abe held a glorious opportunity in his grasp. Both pairs of eyes were on the law student, pulling him either which way, one unbelievably dark and the other light, warm, and compelling.  It was so different from the normal, disconnected attention he got at home and new from the friendly but sometimes busy, scattered attention he got from Ben and Caleb.

“Well, I’m sure I can make time.”

Expectedly, he receives a glare from Robert, his brows knitting together as he tried to will Abe to disappear. It was unbelievably satisfying to have the power to stay, that a look couldn’t push him out the doors. It was just another game, expect they were the pieces and the prize—or punishment—was Robert’s temporary embarrassment. However, when Abe turned to Samuel, he was met with a pleased and open expression. Something told him that Samuel was also in on the game. What his stakes were, Abe didn’t know, but he was definitely willing to include him.

Abe did make time. Rather, he turned the ringer off on his phone and shoved it in his pocket so the alarm wouldn’t go off. He wouldn’t be alerted to leave for class. Maybe he hadn’t left the ditching class phase in high school where it belonged like everyone his age had. It seemed Abe held onto a lot of phases and had never been allowed or had time to grow out of them. Sometimes the cocktail of anger mixed with fear felt very teenage-esque and Abe would look back on those times and wonder how he’d made it through or maybe he’d yearn for them. Even if the stress had melted his brain at the time, it was before everything other stress that now pushed on his chest on a day to day basis.

That anxiety was pushed to the back of his mind which, surprisingly, wasn’t difficult all thanks to Samuel. They sat at the bar by the counter, Robert on the other side, and discussed. There was a common bond from living on Long Island, but Setauket and Oyster Bay weren’t entirely similar. Samuel mentioned how Abe spoke about home like he yearned for it. Abe didn’t have the heart to tell him that he was running away from home and that what he yearned for was far out of his reach. The day was filled with laughs, more coffee, and lunch was made.

Around lunch hour, Robert became increasingly busy. It was hard to miss the begrudged look on his face when he constantly had to leave his perch so he could no longer supervise Abe and his father. As he left, the conversation fell to silence, present but not uncomfortable. Samuel seemed to radiate a sort of fondness, tangible in the air as it crawled down Abe’s throat to his lungs, striking his heart every once and awhile. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d found the happiness of another or the pride that seemed to be a permanent factor in Samuel’s life to be so refreshing. It had always been something fought for, sought after. In those brief moments, it was easy.

“I really must thank you,” Samuel said as he eyed Robert, who was helping a customer with his usual polite-to-a-point expression. His voice was quieter, obviously something he didn’t want his son having the possibility of hearing.

“Sorry for asking but, what for?” Abe was obviously perplexed. He’d like nothing more than to just be able to take gratitude for the sweet nectar that it was rather than thinking some poisonous deceit lied in the undertones. Trust was a complicated word to him, a trait that may have run in the Woodhull veins, passed from father to son.

Samuel gave it a moment of thought, lips thinning as his gaze shifted back to Abe. That sense that he knew something Abe didn’t was back. In a carefully calculated tone, he continued, “I worry about him. Running this place by himself. You seem to be the closest relationship he’s talked about since taking up the place.”

It was said very pointedly, carefully, each syllable as if it was supposed to mean something to Abe. Whatever code was being passed, he wasn’t able to solve it. The slowness of his brain didn’t stop the way his insides jumped in some sort of flattery, which was equally confusing. There was an uncertainty in that, a subtlety bitter shame of not knowing where the feeling had come from. When Abe looked into the layered expression Samuel wore, he almost saw a bit of how Caleb had looked at him when he’d asked if Abe had met anyone. As if he and Robert were children, struggling to make and maintain relationships. The familiarity in that experience made Abe’s gaze cut to Robert for a split second, another shared and unexpected trait. All of these factors were kept to himself, locked inside his disoriented chest.

“Mr. Townsend, I really am flattered that you think this, but we’ve really only played checkers. I’m sure I’m not the only one.”

With that, unexpectedly, the smile spread across Samuel’s face again, “He never complains, not ever. And yet I see him one weekend and he’s going off about a law student named Abraham who comes in every day, ‘just to torment him’ he said. And the next time I see him, I hear the same. I hear about conversations had over games of checkers.”

It was hard for Abe to keep down the laughter at hearing this. So his plan had worked, Robert had been annoyed. “I’m not sure if his complaints about me are a good defense of our supposed friendship.”

“You misunderstand,” Samuel said, his tone a bit rushed but even more emphasized, trying to get Abe to understand something. “He rarely talks about anyone and here I am hearing about you every meeting. He enjoys your company, no matter how he lets on, I assure you.”

“Well, that’s nice, I guess—“

Robert was back before Samuel can drive his point home and still he looked at Abe from his seat as if trying to will the idea into his head, to transfer information across the thick muck of air in silence. The whole interaction leaves Abe confused, amused, and curious. For what, he does not know. Robert Townsend was certainly an interesting character and meeting his father had given Abe even more information that he’d been seeking. It had been an unbelievably satisfying and fulfilling day, even if no actual work had been done. He left that day feeling reinvigorated, and still, he was left with more questions. Rather than being frustrated, he was eager. Eager to find more and to learn the meaning behind Samuel Townsend’s message about his cryptic son.

 

* * *

 

_When he woke, it was the closest thing to heaven he could imagine, like living on a cloud. Everything was indistinguishable outside as a blinding light streamed in through the windows. His body was new and enveloped in the welcoming arms of perfect white sheets. Warmth spread through him when tangled in the mess of bedding. The room was alive with some new meaning, an energy buzzing through the air like a natural white noise and replacing real thoughts by filling his head with cotton. Stresses of school seemed to disappear as well as the pit of guilt always sitting in this stomach. Satisfaction had become a foreign word and only one achieved by cutting corners or being out of line, always temporary. However, it wasn’t completely out of Abe’s reach now. In fact, it fit perfectly, no longer something that hung around his throat and choked him with only temporary payoff._

_  
However, it wasn’t entirely new. There was a familiarity about the feeling of being at ease that would have been startling if his normal paranoia was still creeping behind his shoulder. The concept that good things weren’t made to last had created a sour cynicism that was hard to shake. Even so, the feeling wasn’t completely alien and the room shared this friendly attachment. It was his own, but from years previously. Senior year at Columbia when he shared an apartment with Anna, not that his father knew that she was his roommate. Before the accident, before he’d broken up with her, and before he’d moved back home. It felt like he’d never left, like he’d never gone out that night, and never called Thomas to pick him up._

_  
_ _The light lived inside him rather than just outside the window, rather than in the new apartment where sunlight would bounce off of gray walls to burn him on the outside, taunting the inability to create his own light. There was no weight on his chest as he laid there and he took a moment just to breathe and take in sweet relief. Absolute satisfaction ran through every muscle, making the cloud-like atmosphere even more real on account of the floaty feeling and the fog clouding his mind behind half lidded eyes._

_  
_ _Finally, he had the gall to move without fearing disturbing the peace, starting with small increments to stretch out from his curled up position on the bed. As soon as he shifted, his leg came into contact with another; someone was with him. A smile spread across his lips and a pure happiness went through his whole body. The euphoria only added to his cloud. The sunlight shifted outside to a still bright but more golden tone. He existed in a sweet bliss, his land of milk and honey._

_  
_ _When he turned, he expected Anna. It had been their apartment, after all. The words waiting to spill from his lips were sucked back into his lungs. Robert laid there, the barista, the one Abe saw nearly every day. The studied, reserved expression he normally wore when in Abe’s presence was gone and it wasn’t the cautiously curious glance Abe caught him making when he looked up from his book. Robert wore the same peace that seemed to take up the air. Harshness was gone, the lines on his face and between his brow having had melted away in sleep. His eyes were still closed, breath steady and soft. That word, soft, hadn’t seemed to even plausibly be associated with the barista, and yet everything about him was just so soft, directly contradicting his normally spiny nature. The vulne_ _rability that Abe could normally only catch glimpses of was written all over him._

_  
_ _Abe’s breath was caught in his throat. Maybe out of surprise, but it continued to hold even after the initial shock wore off. It was awe. He didn’t want to disturb the scene in front of him, as if breathing wrong could make the whole thing fall apart. Even with his attempts not to move, Robert’s eyes slowly opened, more open than they’d ever been, figuratively speaking. The raw feeling of actual peace, of sharing that, of seeing someone he was only getting to know and was being told everything about him through his eyes in this confiding moment, made Abe feel unbelievably exposed. The strings tying his chest together were tugged and tugged towards the man in front of him, making his head spin and throat burn dry. Robert’s lips parted, about to say something, lips curling and about to smile. Abe’s heart began to beat faster, almost as if-_  
  
  
Abe’s eyes snapped open, wide and crazed, though no one could see. He was sucking in a breath as he woke and he choked on it. After a fit of coughs, he settled back on his pillow with a thump and heavy breaths. Eveys closed once more, but in tight lines, trying to push out the image of his dreams. His hands dragged down his face, trying to peel off the burn of embarrassment. If Robert looked at him with malice now, which Abe assumed, he would surely worsen his glare now and the occasional curiosity Abe caught would be gone.

  
After a few moments, he whispered to the air, “I’ve been spending too much time there.”  
The minutes continued to pile until he let out a sigh that had been building in his chest from a held breath, allowing him to breathe somewhat consistently again and come down from a flustered height. A cold shower, that would fix this, wash off the layer of sweat and shame that had built up on his skin. He lagged, spending so much time behind the shower curtain that the chill settled into his bones. Finally, when he set out, the bags weighed in down more than normal. He’d considered not even going to the coffee shop.

  
When Abe walked through the doors, he wished he could go back to when Robert asked for his order everyday and checkers wasn’t even a possibility. He’d much rather make himself small in a chair, invisible to other customers, and dive into his books to forget the place was even there. Robert had already set up the board and already had the coffee ready, as per usual, so he had no choice but to sit down and join him.

  
The itch for eye contact was no longer there. If anything, he wanted all the attention off of him for fear that he, like the man in front of him, bore all his secrets in his eyes and Robert would be able to see. Abe had been acquainted with disgust and he was allergic. When the game began with silence, Robert looked up from his concentrated position on the board for a moment. It was obvious now that Abe was somewhat of a talker, so the fact that he actively winced away from conversation was concerning. Concern. That’s what Abe found before looking away. Abe’s relationship with others’ concern was very rocky, but Robert’s didn’t seem to be urgent. He didn’t seem like the kind of guy to do anything unless prompted to and respected Abe’s silent wish to stay quiet. His visit that day remained that way until he got up to head to class and Robert’s eyes were glued to the back of his head as he made for the door.  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am genuinely ashamed of myself that I didn't get this chapter up sooner. I promise I am still 100% committed to this story! School has started, which is a little problematic when all I want to do is stay home and write this.  
> I'm sort of excited about where this is heading! I know describing it as slow would be sort of an understatement, but I promise we're getting somewhere.  
> What's to come-  
> The stresses of school, his father, and Robert start to get to Abe's head. It's only a matter of time until he lashes out and the fact that Robert still refuses to get his name right doesn't help as little things pile on top of one another.


	5. Inferno

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Class starts to fill Abe's schedule, making no time for Robert and their games. He receives a frightening call from his father about a Thanksgiving guest that Abe would rather die than see at their table. Everything starts to build up and soon Abe doesn't know if he'll be able to retain his sanity, especially if Robert continues to poke fun.

Days crept around Abe without his knowledge or permission. The sun would rise in his waking eyes, burning through sleep and surprise and setting a tone for the melancholy of mornings. It would sink from the coffee shop window often behind buildings. That was Abe’s favorite view of the sunset as the alternative was watching it from work, which, as many things did, left a sour taste in his mouth.

As fast as they were, nights were quicker. He only had a moment’s rest before the sun climbed up in the sky and he was forced to wake up with it. Even with the changing seasons into fall and nearly winter, there wasn’t enough time in the night. The extra hours weren’t a help. Abe would wake up at his usual hour and be faced with the black wall of sky brightening around in him into a sickly and falsely soft light. The experience was visceral and uncomfortable, but there was nothing to be done. Most of his life had been spent languishing in some form of discomfort, why should days be different?

Dread was a color that matched the nauseating orange of the rising sun piercing through the windows. It was a sign of work and class, of things he didn’t want to do and wouldn’t understand. However, tuition had to be paid to learn the law and the law had to be learned to be practiced and monetized so he swallowed the scalding colors until his insides would match.

Luckily, the coffee shop was still there. Unfortunately, the dreams persisted. Abe refused to allow something so immature ruin the one quiet place where Abe’s head could be clear. Pestering thoughts would abandon him when he focused instead on his books. There was no room to keep the parasites of his mind if the law filled the spaces. After starting up a game and talking to Robert, it was easy to forget visions of the night before, especially since they had been conjured against Abe’s will. It was another thing to be guilty of, surely – Robert hadn’t consented to domestic bliss playing out in Abe’s mind – but his cover was that neither had Abe. He was often a product of his own thoughts, them not being a product of him. It was rationalized enough for Abe to continue.

It especially helped that they had found a balance in their conversational styles. Robert was a fantastic listener. Abe could drone on and on about anything in the world. He could complain about classes or his father or life in the city or classmates and Robert would listen and remember every word whether the man wanted to keep such trivial details or not. However, if things got out of hand for Abe, Robert was quick to shut it down. The change of subject or lack of a response was usually a clue and Abe didn’t know if it was intentional. It even seemed Robert had peeked out of his shell a little more. Since Abe had met Samuel, Robert had been less hesitant to share about familial details and his past. The unveiling of these snippets were still strung like riddles, but there was more to engage with on both sides.

Unfortunately, time at the coffee shop could no longer be filled with chats and checkers. Days were not the only things that had caught up with Abe, but so had classes. Undoubtedly, the bittersweet, focused aroma of the establishment had instead been replaced with something that was distracting and erratic. Checkers and Robert Townsend had become a distraction. These facts were not appreciated by Abe, a man who knew and continued to learn the power of evidence, not only in school but also in life. In his personal courtroom, more and more signs pointed to the sly suggestion Caleb had made in the bar weeks before and Abe had no time to allow it. Chasing what he couldn’t have was an extremely persistent habit that Abe didn’t want to start dealing with again. It was a desire that often ruined things.  

Somedays, he’d enter and be hit with the air and the longing to just abandon what was difficult and just be another living being, no care in the world. And then he’d have to be what he was – an adult. Give Robert a sheepish smile after he’d already set up the whole board and apologize, giving an excuse from a different class and a different assignment each time. Robert would just nod and hand over the coffee, ‘Abraham’ still written in quick but wispy writing on the cup. Putting Abe’s name on the pre-prepared cup of coffee was pointless, they both knew it. But Abe always mentioned it when he saw it and then observed how Robert enjoyed the pointless annoyance.

Somedays, Samuel would be there. Usually only on weekends if he was free. Those days were always excruciatingly pleasant. Excruciating when being pulled from light conversation by books and pens. Samuel Townsend was an actual adult and he hadn’t been spoiled the world. In fact, he was a sun. A light source, bright and light and warm. Abe had thought that life ruined everything eventually. If death didn’t knock on your door early, you would be forced out to ferment in the sickening air until you were eventually crushed by it. His role models had effectively proven that and Abe was surely on his way – not given the opportunity to choose which option he wanted, of course. But Samuel had done neither. He’d swam through life relatively unaffected. Somehow, this made his optimism a genuine fit and his encouragement and belief felt anything but false. It was some valuable source of energy.

Abe enjoyed when Samuel visited. He got a daily pep talk as Robert rolled his eyes and continued to work on nothing. Of course, Samuel’s company was something Abe had to regretfully deny as well. Or rather, Samuel denied it himself when Robert reminded them that there was work to be done. He refused to speak to Abe, making an oath of complete silence for the rest of the day. That usually lasted until about lunch.

“Offer him something,” a whisper would hiss through the shop as more people ending their lunch hour began to pour out through the doors.

“I have, I offer him something every morning,” a more annoyed but controlled rasp would respond, clearly Robert, who had just finished the mundane and irritating task of dealing with the lunch rush.

“That means he’s had nothing but coffee all day. Give him something else.”

The two, lost in their small argument, were under the impression that Abe was too deep in his work to hear them. The voices themselves had pulled him out of his trance. A father and son bickering without embarrassment or consequences for one of them was as a seemingly just reward was endlessly fascinating. Some sort of affection lingered in his stomach that stomped out his fire every once and awhile.

One day, Robert had gone out for sandwiches from a nearby deli and Samuel had convinced him to bring back a third for Abe. Not an entirely infrequent occurrence. Neither was Samuel refusing – on his son’s behalf, of course – any sort of payment from Abe as soon as he reached for his wallet. Robert gave a disappointed and distasteful glace but Abe figured he wouldn’t have accepted it either way. He’d been raised by Samuel after all and Abe was no longer just a stranger and customer.

“They should be ashamed of themselves, how much work they give you,” Samuel said as he watched Abe scarf down half of his sandwich. “It’s absolutely criminal.”

“Ironic for a criminal law class,” Abe said with a small smile before taking another bite. However, he found himself defending a system he despised. For some reason, it seemed ungrateful to complain to Samuel, even if he encouraged it. “The work load should lighten up after the semester ends.”

“Which is months from now,” Robert pointed out, almost under his breath. The soft tone and volume he’d used had made it impossible to tell if he had said it out of concern or just to prove Abe wrong again. Abe assumed the latter considering the owner of the words.

“Less than two,” Abe countered. Early November. Beautiful, but had a daunting edge due to the loom of exams. “It’s not so bad.”

Samuel immediately saw through the sheerness of the obligatory lie. “You’re in here all hours of the day when you’re not working. God knows how much is left when you leave. I have half a mind to go there myself and start some sort of union.”

Samuel Townsend apparently had a sort of infamy surrounding him because of a history of civil disobedience. Abe had dragged stories out about the kind man’s days as what was too disorderly to be a hippie but too structured to be an anarchist. Battling the administration of Colombia University had not been beyond the realm of possibilities. How far he would get in his cause, that was a different story.

“Or… hire you here so you never have to leave your precious study space.” Samuel had tried to add a casualness to his tone, but the implication of seriousness was there.

“I’m not going to pay him to sit there and take up chairs.” Robert was quick with his rebuttal, staring down his own father, almost offended but definitely irritated with being publically taken off guard. Something knowing in Robert’s fierce glare told Abe that Samuel had made several suggestions to Robert about him in some capacity in the past.

“No need to be so harsh over nothing, son.” Samuel said in a calm, level tone. The lack of harshness somehow gave Abe the impression of tenderness, at least in his approach. No discipline other than that and yet the message seemed to be received as Robert nodded curtly and looked back to his own sandwich.

When Abe finished his own, the Townsends pushed him back to his books for the day, united again in the cause to get him back to work. What Samuel had said stuck solidly in Abe’s head. He’d been right, the coffee shop wasn’t open long enough at the right hours for Abe to get everything done.

Writing had never been Abe’s strongest suit. Somehow, improvised persuasive speaking came easier to him than prepared persuasive papers and even reading expository was more interesting than writing it. He lacked a flare and style and the ability to simply format coherent ideas in a way that flowed on paper. He always got something wrong even after he applied feedback from past failures to his newer works. His pen buffered as it hit paper and fingers did the same as Abe connected them with keys, always staring at a blinking cursor. He never got passed a first draft before the due date barreled into him.

It was a wonder how Abe had even made it past college in the first place. Hell, even in high school he’d gotten Ben to look over everything. In a glorious way, Ben was a perfectionist. He couldn’t just make suggestions, he had to rewrite whole sentences, whole passages, sometimes even whole papers when he saw just how Abe would crumble. They’d sit down together, Abe melting into couch cushions as Ben floated atop them with pen in hand. Abe would just talk, say what he hoped he could have put on paper, and Ben found a way to translate and articulate points in writing. More than once Abe had been accused of copying.

Occasionally, Abe would stare at a blipping cursor that hadn’t moved in several minutes when Robert’s voice pulled him out of his self-loathing haze. A whisper of input found Abe’s ear and immediately Abe’s fingers obeyed. Even people with no interest in the law could write better essays.

Virtually every single one of his classes had given those sorts of assignments as if his professors had gotten together just to conspire against him. Find his weakness and shoot him down for the second time. There wasn’t enough time in all of eternity to finish, much less write something worthy of a decent grade.

When Abe arrived home late after working and one of his daily trips to the coffee shop, he’d collapsed on the small couch. Abe’s will was strong. There was a lot he could force himself to do before it snapped along with his bones and his spirit, but it couldn’t withstand that weight no matter how much Abe hated himself for it. The relative silence engulfed him until his ears once again registered the dull hum of the tired city outside his window. That signaled the revival of his mind, the part that reminded him of the deadlines and how he had no actual talent with words and how if he couldn’t survive that year, he couldn’t get through the others and probably couldn’t survive a career.

One night, in his groggy, feverish stillness, his phone rang. His father. Abe had been under the assumption that he’d already been depleted of all his energy, that no force existed that could possibly anchor him further and drag him deeper into the dark. A heavy exhale caused his chest to sink in and deteriorate until the space where his ribcage ended was a sand dune. The wretched sound had already pierced through his thoughts and his city white noise, so not answering would bring him no peace. His thigh, previously numb, felt the sting of his ringer still on. Perhaps that was the only compelling reason to actually answer the phone; to stop that noise and that small but sharp pain.

Allowing just one more ring to go by, Abe took in a breath as if it would cure him of his headache and allow him to focus without losing sanity. He dragged his phone out of his pocket, instinctively standing up as a sign of some sort of misplaced respect ingrained in his mind after years. It was only a phone call, but if it were a face to face conversation God knew Abe would receive a disappointed scoff and a lecture about lounging around during important conversations.

“Hello?” he answered, weight shifting from side to side as he impatiently counted the beats until he could hang up and sleep.

“Abraham, I was hoping to talk to you about Thanksgiving.”

Abe froze in his unmoving pacing. He should have known his father would have asked about that. November crept up on him sometime while he had been buried in the mountain of books. Family affairs such as those were not fit for an estranged father and son in a cavernous home. Fireplaces could be found in several rooms of his old home which could be described as a small mansion – at least by Setauket standards. The home, due to its size, was meant to be warm and greatly inhabited. As years stretched on, those who lived in her walls had grown fewer and fewer. The warmth of the house was no longer a friend but an enemy, eating at insides. Especially on days meant to be shared with many. Instead of a festive fire, it felt as though sickly-sweet smoke would fill his lungs. It was that very smoke that prevented him from replying, already having found its way into his life once again.

“Do you really think that’s a good idea for just the two of us?” said after a calculated pause.

“I’ve invited Mary.”

That was when Abe’s world had completely shattered.

If Abe was filled with fire, Mary lived with a storm inside her. Their relationship had always been the calm before. They were forged together in tragedy. Tears were a soft sprinkle accompanied by a sky full of grief. Her stabilizing presence paired with heavy sadness kept Abe’s flames down. Even so, no one should be put with the responsibility of keeping Abe in check other than the man himself. His intensity eventually lit up again as she assisted in his healing.

Anna and Abe had always shared a certain inferno ever since their youth. During the Mary era, Anna took the form of an old photograph capturing a nostalgic youth. Abe had been under the impression that running backward rather than forwards had been the right approach. Loving Anna again was his supposed antidote. Bittersweet moments were shared, but they never lasted. Their temporary nature meant Abe had to continue going back for more and more. He had been hooked. If he ran back fast enough, it was like he could reverse time. Like that God-awful Superman movie Abe had watched as a kid. However, he was no Superman and he often tripped.

Everything eventually unraveled as he should have guessed. Mary’s tears over those weeks, those months, turned into a tidal wave. And rightly so. Abe didn’t need to be told but he certainly was. He was without Mary, someone who frequently tried to give him everything he desired, he was without Anna, someone who genuinely helped his grief, and he was washed up back on the scalding shore of his father’s house, lungs filled with sea salt that scratched like guilt inside of him.

With one sentence, the storm came rushing back into his life. The fire that caused him to stubbornly fight back was immediately extinguished. Abe’s mouth was held agape but no words fell out as they usually did in a stream. Smoke and steam flew from his skin as inhibitions hardened like magma all around him.

She didn’t want to see him again, he was sure of it, she’d rather be anywhere else. Even if it wasn’t true, her visit would most certainly open wounds just beginning to heal. No doubt she’d accepted Richard’s invitation out of the goodness of her heart. No family should be left with just two on Thanksgiving and she knew of the strife between this father and son. That leaving them alone was dangerous. The reminder of her kindness only drowned Abe further as it was also a reminder of how she didn’t deserve any of the shit he’d put her through. As his mouth closed again, he’d gulped.

“I assume this won’t be a problem.”

Richard had been waiting again on the other line. Waiting for his son to get a grip on himself even though no such thing would likely ever happen, no matter the circumstance.

“You can’t-”

“And why not?” Richard’s gruff tone interrupted before an excuse could even be made. It was clear he’d wanted Abe to either admit that grand fault another time or stop denying his father’s wishes. One meant ridicule and the other caused silence.

“After what I did–”

“Yes, and Thanksgiving will be a perfect time to correct that, don’t you agree?”

Abe could practically see his father’s blood boiling in front of him.

“Dad, I can’t,” but Abe knew whatever excuse he made would not be listened to.

A mixture of a grunt and a growl rang softly, a sound of heavy disapproval before, “You will.”

Richard Woodhull was intent on having the well put together Mary Smith as a part of his family almost certainly to improve their aesthetics. To him, their name had been tarnished with the neighbors because of Abe’s mistakes. At that moment, more than ever did they need a nice young woman to fix their reputation and who better than the forgiving girl who Abe had originally hurt. After Thomas, Abe’s relationships had become a chance to gain imaginary political capital for his father as if they were all playing a part in some Shakespearian tragedy.

There was a moment of silence before Richard hung up. Abe had been left in the cold, the dark, the damp. Just as the other line was forcibly cut off, he regained his flame. The desire to yell and scream about the exploitative nature of the whole thing, of taking advantage of a girl that hadn’t done a damn thing wrong overtook Abe. The permission and opportunity to do so had been yanked away so instead, he slammed the phone down on the nearby table and paced about his apartment. It was hours until he could rest.

The next morning as Abe emerged from yet another Townsend-centric dream and wiped sleep from his eyes, he was once again hit with the weighty realization of what was ahead of him. Papers and projects and assignments and odd dreams were no longer the only things consuming his attention, doubt, and hatred. There was also the prospect of having to see the woman he’d hurt on one of the loneliest holidays and being consumed by the guilt of his dead brother and every mistake afterward. He couldn’t run to Ben and Caleb who had their own plans and didn’t need the weight of a friend that couldn’t function, he couldn’t run to Anna who had built her own honor after their love affair, he couldn’t stay in the city and risk even more memories of Thomas.

So, he ran to the coffee shop. After a day of brooding because of the inability to drag himself out of bed to do anything else, anything actually useful to his situation. There was finally a point where he couldn’t stand those walls anymore, that ceiling that he continued to stare at with unwavering persistence. He was so unaware of the movement of his physical body as his focus was encapsulated by the storm still swimming inside him and keeping the fire that meant his survival weak and low. He floated to the coffee shop instead of ran. All he was aware of was that somehow, by God’s grace, he would eventually end up at the coffee shop with Robert Townsend.

It was only when he arrived there did he realize how late he’d come and how he’d forgotten all of his belongings at home with the exception of his wallet and phone. There was no book bag slung over his shoulder nor books inside it to study. His hair was a mess. It stuck up in odd places due to the lack of care he’d given it when he’d left. Dark circles felt heavy under his eyes. When Robert looked up at him in confusion and what had to be disgusted concern Abe didn’t blame him.

The checkers board had been pushed aside an already played with by some other regular. Abe’s eyes had found it when he’d finally tore them from Robert’s gaze. The gaze that made Abe’s stomach float and his heart burn and there was no way of denying it any longer. Ignorance to his own feelings was not a luxury Abe could possess anymore.

“Haven’t seen you today,” Robert said as he tracked Abe’s movements closer. His hand didn’t move from where it had paused in its task of washing out a mug that Abe had interrupted with his arrival. “I almost worried”

The last part was nearly whispered, another secret to share with Abe. It was infuriating how the smaller man on an emotional hair-trigger wanted to badly to interpret that in his favor but knew it must have been just a friendly gesture from a man that had been programmed to be polite.

 _That’s not like you_. They’d both expected Abe to say it, but his lips remained closed in a tight, invisible line. They wanted snarky quips again instead of painful silence as the former seemed to always heal except in this one inconvenient instance.

Abe heaved himself onto the stool and Robert followed behind the counter. Quickly and without words, he moved the checkerboard back to its home and reset all the pieces. As Abe lagged, Robert moved at superhuman speeds. When he finished his work on the board, he moved to make Abe his coffee. The man was so precise even with his pace and Abe wondered what sorcery Robert possessed.

When Robert stopped in front of Abe with an expectant look on his face, it was clear that his intention was to reset the day for a man who had clearly had a bad one. It didn’t cure Abe’s slouch of defeat but it did urge him to participate. He moved closer so that his elbows propped him up on the counter and Robert leaned on his respective side, waiting for Abe to do something. Perhaps he was waiting for the man to crumble or snap back into his usual demeanor.

Robert handed Abe his coffee. The smaller man could only scoff and roll his eyes at ‘Abraham’ printed neatly on the cup. It infuriated him more than normal for some reason’s

Abe’s hand, suddenly heavy, went forward to move a piece toward the enemy. In a weak voice that had been underutilized all day he said, “Sorry. It’s been a rough one.”

Robert hummed quietly in acknowledgment as he moved his own piece forward. “I’m guessing you want to talk about it.”

He was always rude. Maybe not rude, but intentionally sharp and didn’t give anyone the courtesy of being soft to spare them. Abe was no exception to this rule. It wasn’t a question, “Do you want to talk about it?” It was a sentence; a penalty Robert was plagued with as some sort of punishment. Abe knew it was somehow a farce, that Robert didn’t actually feel that way. If he had been truly that spiny, he wouldn’t have so quickly fixed the board or went out of his way to make coffee. What strategy he was employing was beyond Abe, though.

“Not really,” Abe countered. He looked up at Robert briefly during his turn and his retort with a glare that didn’t receive any attention back.

“That’s new for you,” Robert said as he pushed his piece and Abe wanted to glare at him again, melt him from his side of the counter until he’d received an apology.

His one place of refuge and yet he’d forgotten that Robert wasn’t actually on his side. The barista was just a friend he’d made up within his isolated and desperate state and Robert the acquaintance that put up with him for business was all that was truly left. In Abe’s great hour of need for a place that didn’t carry so much turmoil like the rest of his life did, he’d forgotten that he wouldn’t find that place anywhere, that he’d made it up to stay afloat while studying. He wondered how many happy days had been constructed in his own mind as he moved another piece.

A piece which Robert took.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That you talk too much.”

Robert’s words were punctuated by his own move. Maybe it was to erase them or move on from them. As Abe looked up in shock and anger he could see the realization Robert had that it had definitely been the wrong thing to say. Still, he acted just as confident in his social moves as he did when he moved his pieces, always tearing Abe down. Abe knew better than to think that the man would have the proper shame to take it back.

He didn’t move his next piece but instead of considering a strategy for the game, he considered his strategy for the conversation. The blow to the chest Robert’s words had caused, how they’d confirmed his suspicion that there were no actual allies here, called for a bigger response. As soon as a plan of attack formulated in Abe’s mind, his mouth opened on impulse.

“My father invited my ex to his house for Thanksgiving. My ex that I cheated on. You remember Mary, I’ve talked about her a lot. Too much, like you said. But hey, you always seemed willing to listen. So, my father invited Mary over with no consideration of what I might want or what she might want. You’ve guessed that we _both_ would rather not see each other. Then again, why not bring up another reminder of my dead brother on Thanksgiving when he’s supposed to be there at the table with us. No, my father wouldn’t do that. He just means to humiliate me for my mistakes and rubbing salt in both of our wounds while he does it. So, I’m going to be spending Thanksgiving with the girl I broke the heart of and a man who will only call me son if I somehow magically erase all that pain and get with her again. Surely _then_ the neighbors will stop talking about how much of a shame the Woodhull boy is, don’t you think, Robert?”

Abe had finally found a way to get Robert to look at him, to properly look and listen. Having to always cause a scene to get any attention from anyone only fueled his fire as did the way that Robert looked at him with matching anger and disgusted regret. Before Robert could say anything, Abe started again.

“But I shouldn’t be focusing on that, no. After all, I’ve got three papers due next week that I’ve barely even started on. Not to mention that I can’t write for shit, but what else is new! It’s not like I’ve ever got this ‘school thing’ right before.”

Another moment of heated silence that only lasted a breath.

“And not only that, but the nicest person I regularly see anymore is a barista with a stick up his ass telling me I talk too much, pretending to know exactly who I am and how I deal with my shit, who even thinks I’ve somehow fucked up my own name and puts the ‘right’ one on my coffee every day. And you know what, maybe all of that is just what I deserve.”

With that, Abe felt invigorated. The scowl he wore could hardly convey the blaze of bubbling magma inside his stomach and climbing flames in his chest. Anger was so powerful and that alongside supposed justice was the most energizing cocktail.

The two stared at each other for a moment, the space between them in the empty coffee shop was a vacuum that neither of them could really breathe in. The Edward Hopper painting Nighthawk came to mind for the observer on the other side of large, lit windows. An entire universe was held inside the café and yet it seemed impossible that the explosion of Abe Woodhull could be contained in such a small environment.

The tension eventually peaked and began to dip as all things do. Abe could no longer look into Robert’s eyes and be burned from the inside out. He thought that maybe it was his last chance to look into them and hated himself for still enjoying the honey that lived inside the conflicted orbs. Time stopped, frozen in that painting as he looked inside and saw those sparks that never transferred to his expression, not even after Abe had just tried to vilify him. The calm composure didn’t extend to his eyes and Abe fell in love with the quick glimpses he got of the true feelings of Robert Townsend. And then he had to let go.

His last act in the coffee shop would be to put money down on the counter for the coffee with the same amount of aggressive force he had just used to move his pieces. As he did so, he felt those eyes follow his every move and felt them burn into him once again. He hated how still affected he was by it.

He turned and saw the door, so clearly saw his grand exit. There was nothing hindering him from getting there and he barely heard footsteps coming out from behind the counter as the blood pounded in his brain. And then a hand was on his upper arm, grabbing it. He jumped and turned to see Robert above him, always taller than him. He was whipped around and before he could say anything lips were on his.

Abe forgot to be frightened and offended when he started kissing back. Robert was much more forward than Abe could have ever suspected. He kissed as if they’d never kiss again which Abe figured was only to be expected since he did not know if Abe would ever come back when he left through those doors.

Clumsy hands – so different from the precise movements he normally made – found Abe’s torso above his shirt when he was confident Abe wouldn’t move away. They went up and down as they framed his sides, feeling him as if he were actually something important enough to remember the feeling of and not just the look of from across a counter.

As Robert broke away, those hands retreated as well and when Abe looked into his eyes this time, the taller man looked terrified of what he’d done. Not ashamed, but a look that said he wanted to reach out but couldn’t bring himself to move. A look that wanted Abe to stay right where he was and get no closer to the door.

And then Abe smiled. The anger was gone and was replaced with the coffee aroma that matched nicely with the taste of the barista on his lips. He almost laughed, jumped with joy. No longer did feelings need to be bottled up, for _once_ he didn’t hate himself for _feeling something_ because Robert felt the same which meant Abe didn’t have to hide it.

And with that smile, he turned towards the door with full intention to come see Robert Townsend again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! This is obviously a couple months late! It really was supposed to come out before Thanksgiving, but that didn't exactly happen. I'll try to keep everything posted in a timely manner! I really do love these boys and I really am committed to this story!   
> What's to come-  
> Thanksgiving eventually arrives and a different invitation might be offered to Abe, much to Robert's dismay.


	6. Thanksgiving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abe gets a rude awakening when he goes back to the coffee shop after his last encounter with Robert. But then an unexpected invitation gives him an excuse to avoid his father on Thanksgiving.

The glass doors of the coffee shop reflected the radiant, welcoming light of the sun which had taken a break from its role as Abe’s enemy for the past few days. Abe expected the new chill that had taken over the weather would be taken away when he went inside where he was awaiting a new and exciting opportunity. Suddenly, after the epiphany he’d had against soft lips, Abe thought he had found the thing that would reignite a happy spark in his life while the bitter winter approached. Perfect timing, it seemed, since Abe’s depressed slumps only seemed to worsen while cold bit at his skin and the sky hung grey, gloomy clouds above his head.

That year, in particular, pulled Abe down even further from his fevered flight through life. After, and even perhaps before his unexpected breakdown, it seemed that everyone in his life was flying much higher than he was. The breeze had caught under their wings as they expertly kept their course. When comparing himself, he found feathers falling as he descended further and further down. However, this was about his change. He was convinced that with this new outlook he’d been offered, this positive influence, things would get back on track. So, unafraid, he squared his shoulders in front of the shiny glass doors.

Abe had been kept away from his haven and from confronting Robert for several days. Class and work seemed to be getting in the way again, though Abe wasn’t sure why he was expecting any different. It was like he had forgotten for a moment that just because he paused to catch up didn’t mind the rest of it did. The constrictive rope that tied him to his _real_ responsibilities, as his father would emphasize, wound around him until he finally needed to step foot in the dreaded library for more than a few minutes at a time. A paper had been assigned and the only place he could find what he needed to write it was the library, not for lack of googling. The easiest way to concur the challenge was to use the resources given to him, so Abe had resigned himself to hiding between shelves in case the ghosts occasionally following him through the aisles. There was one motivator he could rely on, though. When he finished, he’d finally allow himself to go back to the coffee shop.

Whenever the shell of a particularly happy memory came up, a now tortured spirit, Abe would think about that night, isolated in time and immortalized in a singular mental photograph with the flashbulb of a vibrantly lit city. New York City, somewhere that was supposed to be exciting, had finally begun to feel like the magic Abe was promised, with someone he might share it with. When eyelids closed on the grim, beige walls, he could feel smooth lips on his, taste the coffee he’d usually come for every day with more of a bitter sting than his order. Suddenly, the library didn’t feel so suffocating and hot with a cold, lonely atmosphere to juxtapose the warmth. His surrounds mellowed with his heartbeat, and he continued to keep his promise to go back when he was finished.

The confidence that had built in Abe about this upcoming encounter seemed well justified. As he pushed through the doors, he had an uncharacteristic skip in his step and a small, lopsided smile on his face. The place, as always, was just as he left it, the one thing that remained constant.

Abe wasn’t so much focused on the building alone now, though. It was the person inside who grabbed his attention among the many guests. His eyes slid to his usual chair to find no game board on the counter in front of it. The entire game seemed to have disappeared, in fact, with a few customers sitting and reading newspapers as they drank from their cups with no reserved, spotless space for Abe to sit. His smile quirked with confusion, eyes still hopeful but lost as he desperately looked for his seat which he couldn’t process had been taken.  

The world didn’t revolve around him, he reminded himself. He hadn’t been around for a couple days and Robert had other customers to worry about. It stung, selfishly, to think that Robert had been worrying about others instead of Abe. Again, Abe had to remind himself of the situation so he could rationalize some solution. Robert didn’t seem like the type to sit and wait around for anyone, even Abe if they liked each other. That confident smile returned, hands clutching his bag strap which was firm over his shoulder. His gaze moved to behind the counter and upon seeing Robert for the first time since that night, a full, tooth-filled grin broke through.

Robert’s reaction was a little… different as he finally turned and spotted Abe. He frowned, turned, and walked out through the employees only door.

At this point, Abe was thoroughly worried on top of being endlessly confused. That hadn’t been the reaction he’d calculated at all. Robert was a more reserved man, of course, but Abe harbored his storybook idea still. Their mutual affections had been expressed so there couldn’t be any reason to hide or be trapped in the confines of formality or, in Abe’s case, shame. This idea he felt had been the universal experience. If this was the case, there was no explanation for Robert’s sour expression. Abe seemed to remember clambering hands holding him back for something he might have never gotten.

Abe’s imagination had always been endless. As a child, that meant he was more apt for games, for fun. However, as he grew, it meant he inflated the importance of things whether that be creating dread for small inconveniences or, maybe, making an impulsive kiss something bigger than it had been. In his few days away, it seemed that he might have dreamed of something much more than he had received. The thought extinguished the warmth from his chest as he joined the growing line of people annoyed by the absence of an employee to take their order.

The bag suddenly felt heavier on his slumping shoulders and, for the first time in a couple of days, the sick, hot fear fully settled back under his skin, prickling there and pushing. This usually ever-present discomfort normally dully presented itself and Abe had shaken it off. The lack of it had made him optimistic that it had disappeared forever. However, as it crawled all over him, it became suffocating, and he felt foolish that he ever thought he would live without it.

Another jarring realization for the day was that Abe hadn’t actually stood in the line in months. Normally, he would push through the glass doors to have his coffee handed to him mere minutes later, no words exchanged besides friendly, if a little spiny, greetings. Even that level of platonic intimacy from someone so private was taken from him like that with a disgusted expression and a dash out the door.

Abe felt as nauseated as he had the first day he’d entered. The familiar feeling of knowing he had fucked up weighed down his stomach. Abe was still the same amateur that thought he could enter this place without consequence only now it hurt so much more. A false sense of security had lured him in like this siren’s call that he had made up himself. It was so difficult to think that maybe he would have to give it all up after this incident. Before, leaving a busy coffee shop that obviously wasn’t for him would have been easy. Now, he had humanized it and the man inside of it and he was terrified that he had done so unfairly and would have to lose this false happiness.

The sound of his foot tapping against the hard floor was louder than Abe thought, but every sound seemed to blend together anyway. He watched his shoe rapidly move and strain the tendons of his foot, but he found there was no way to stop it nor loosen the grip he had on his bag strap that made his knuckles ghostly. His eyes were wild and distant, his gaze far away as it shifted off of his shoe. He only noticed it had gone to the door Robert had left through when it swung back open and everything came back into focus. Abe took a hopeful breath that it might be Robert so they could just _talk about what happened_ , but a familiar head of silvery hair emerged instead.

For once, Abe was slightly disappointed to see Samuel. There was some sort of a shame that came along with seeing the father of a man that Abe had somehow offended with his lips. Another father to disappoint, he felt with a pang in his heart. For some reason, he didn’t want to let this man he barely knew down, a man that seemed to cherish the friendship his son had made.

The end of the line slowly inched closer and closer to the counter. Samuel wasn’t as quick as Robert, but just as methodical, paying so much attention to detail as he fulfilled orders. He also greeted everyone with a smile and a question about their day. He was much more openly committed to every drink he made and the experience the customer receiving it would have. His glance found Abe every once and a while with a sympathetic edge to his kind face that was hard for Abe to swallow.

Abe eventually did get to the front of the line where he had to express his order in actual terms to Samuel who made it with little words and handed it to him without a name on it. It was a familiar exchange where it was clear the two men knew each other but something had estranged them and strained their relationship in some way. Abe walked woozily over to an empty table to drink but found that his stomach curled in disgust with the thought of ingesting the drink. The liquid swirled, hypnotizing him, as he fell deeper and deeper into nausea, considering leaving altogether. That was probably the right thing to do.

He opened his phone in hopes he could find something else to do to distract him. Maybe he’d stumble on somewhere else in the area to go. Or somewhere far, far away with no memories attached. Before he could, he heard a soft, polite cough over him and suddenly Samuel was sitting across from him, the line having disappeared.  

“He just said, ‘I’m taking my break’ and went upstairs. He never does that.” Samuel tried to provide some comic relief by impersonating his son’s dry tone, but Abe could see that he was concerned. There was no need to specify who he was talking about. “Did something happen?”

Abe’s shoulders fell microscopically as he let out a quiet sigh. The cup was brought to his lips as a distraction as if the millisecond of time it provided would be enough for him to think of a valid excuse. Instead, bitterness found his tongue as he discovered he had forgotten to add his ridiculous amount of cream and sugar. Robert hadn’t been there to add it for him. As he recovered, he merely shook his head. Eyes widening to try to mimic that concern as if he truly had no idea what Samuel was talking about. Of course, there was no tension, no new developments that filled the previously calm air with this new, heavy dread that Abe wasn’t sure anyone else but him could feel. That would just be ridiculous.

Samuel paused with an unchanged expression. Though initially, Abe had taken him for some sweet but ignorant older man, he had grown to realize that knowing was in the Townsends gene pool. Even so, Samuel didn’t use knowledge as a weapon. It was a kindness, actually. Slowly, his face softened into some form of curiosity.

“Abe… Robert will be in Oyster Bay for Thanksgiving.” His head had tilted to the side slightly and eyes dropped to the table where he was tracing small cracks in attempts at looking casual. The statement had obviously been formulated and calculated to serve some kind of motive made clear by his higher, suggestive inflection. What that motive was, Abe couldn’t begin to grasp. “I think it would be good for both of you to speak outside of the cafe. Why don’t you join us for dinner?”

Abe knew that his first instinct should have been to refuse. The way Robert had stormed off should have been evidence enough to immediately shut the request down. However, he took pause as Samuel now looked at him, patiently waiting for an answer with a newly cheery expression. Abe wondered if somehow, he knew about Richard’s forceful invitation. Loathing suddenly began to bubble up inside him. There was no way in hell he was going to sit at the same table as his father again nor feel that smothering glance again.

With a new, crooked, patched together smile, he nodded. “I’ll be there.”

 

* * *

 

 

Abe didn’t know what he expected the Townsend house to look like. It had to reflect the welcoming aura of Samuel with his warm personality, but it also had to be a suitable environment for the antisocial nature of Robert to grow and blossom in. It had to nurture both polar opposites. Abe had gotten into his head the image of a quiet, beachside colonial for someone to dream of retiring to. And then slapped on the back of it would be a Victorian gothic mansion for vampires to brood in. The house would be split down the middle to accommodate both sides and keep the peace, big enough to contain both men.

The one thing he did get right as his cab stopped carefully in front of the address written on a crumpled napkin was that it was big. Of course it was, it was in Oyster Bay in _this_ neighborhood. Abe should have guessed the family’s comfortable situation as soon as Robert had described where he had grown up. Not that Abe had room to talk. His father was a very successful judge with all the connotations that brought, very well off compared to his quiet yet heavily suburban town. However, the Townsends came off as humble, so modest that Abe didn’t even give it a second thought. Abe was sure that Samuel had instilled that respectful nature into his son when raising him. Interesting to Abe was that it came without self-loathing or a self-defeating attitude compared to his own upbringing, his father always teaching him to be diffident about his background.

The thing about the size of the house, though, was that even though it rivaled that of his own childhood home, it didn’t feel empty or unfinished upon first inspection. Spirits of the departed weren’t waiting at the door to be let back in for familial festivities and they didn’t seem to leave gaping holes. The whole house exuded this inviting atmosphere. Flower beds lined the front of the house. The warm voice of Samuel played through Abe’s memory talking about how he had been planning to get better at gardening in light of his recent retirement. The beds were just a bit in disarray, but it was clear they were a work in progress. Half the bricks containing the dirt had been replaced, the other half crumbling from disuse. But still, it housed blooms that had made it to the fall.

Chrysanthemums and pansies, dianthus and black-eyed susans filled and spilled from the flower beds with a stark contrast to the old, white wood paneling of the house’s exterior. That was when Abe realized that it really, really didn’t feel like his house; not lonely at all, taken care of. The names of most every flower filled his head like the names of old friends he had just barely retained but thought about fondly. The names his mother had taught him on weekends when he was small and they would garden together. Thomas had always had more of Richard’s attention before the accident. So, while their mother was alive, she took care of the baby of the family. She introduced him to all the flowers in their garden all year round, making them happy friends of Abe’s. It was something Abe hadn’t thought about in years. The garden left with his mother, but this wasn’t a somber reunion. It was bright and colorful, just like her. So, Abe nodded respectfully at Mr. Townsend’s garden knowing his mother would certainly approve his efforts.

The door wasn’t the transparent glass of the coffee shop, didn’t reveal everything about a sleek interior designed to attract business and community. It was a rich wood intended to keep the world away so it wouldn’t interrupt the family that resided behind it. It, like most everything else about the home, was inviting. Anyone lucky enough to keep close to it was invited by the detailed engravings and kind shade to the same honey-sweet atmosphere that Samuel put out which surely ran through the whole house. The warmth of the interior could be seen through the little pockets of clouded glass. A golden crest knocker hung proudly in the center even though an electric doorbell was lit up on the side of the door.

An apt description of the entrance was classic. It seemed like the vibe Richard always strived for their own home. However, the stiff elegance and class that had always been emphasized in his decorating made it feel far more impersonal and strayed further and further from the desired effect. It was cold, uncomfortable. The warmth that the Townsend house possessed seemed to leave the Woodhull residents when grief struck them for the first time. So when Abe range the decorative doorbell, he felt like he was coming home after a long time away.

His figure stood patiently on the porch, a statue beginning to blend in with his surroundings, as the faint sound of the bell made its way through the door. When he listened past the hushed breeze, he could hear the muffled voices of men and faint footsteps getting closer. His breath picked up slightly and he adjusted the sleeves of his shirt. The cool, crisp autumn air filled his lungs, becoming thicker to choke him out if he inhaled too quickly from anxious excitement.

The jovial voice of Samuel Townsend was closest. Robert’s sound was too faint to be heard if he was there yet at all. Abe’s focus was jarred as the door swung open to reveal the familiar face of Samuel and the heat from inside could immediately be felt.

“Abraham!” rang through the front yard as the enthusiasm of the fatherly voice was made evident. His smile could be heard from the neighbors, surely, but it certainly didn’t need to be audible in his tone. As soon as Abe saw his face it was made quite visible.

Oh, and it was _infectious!_ Air pushed through Abe’s teeth instead of his lips as they spread across his cheeks. Finally, he could properly exhale, forgetting all about the nerves he felt about Robert with a “Good to see you too, Mr. Townsend.”

Samuel’s hands clasped around Abe’s shoulders in a welcoming half hug. “It is _always_ good to see you,” he said, letting go. He moved to the side to open up the rest of the house. “Welcome, come in, make yourself at home!”

Abe happily took that suggestion and stepped off the welcome mat onto the hardwood. His hands smoothly found his pockets as his posture adjusted through the door and looked around the beginning of the home. His eyes flickered from wall to wall, finding cool colors splashed with a proud variety of frames holding photographs from what looked like years and years. Old to new family portraits, unrecognizable children aside from features identical from the man in front of him. The backgrounds indicated trips and school pictures and everything in between. There were also graduation photos, something he knew Richard wished to someday proudly show off as Samuel did. But Abe pushed that thought far from his mind, done with comparing his life to Robert’s.

“Oh, the place is beautiful,” Abe exclaimed to fill the silence. It didn’t feel unnatural, though, he didn’t feel like he was a pretend adult trying to fill an awkward pause.

Samuel’s reaction made the comment immediately worth it. His tone was positively delighted, “Well, thank you. But the living room is probably a better place to talk.”

Abe’s head had not felt so clear in a good while. The house seemed to relax by design, some odor put in the air to chemically correct this paranoid man.

The living room instantly screamed plush and comfortable.  The carpeting beneath his feet was shaggy enough for Abe to sink into it just slightly. There were plenty of seats, long couches and chairs intended to serve many guests. It made Abe question how many Samuel usually hosted since the room and the house was obviously made for more than two or three people. Even if they didn’t meet capacity, it still didn’t feel empty. This felt intentional and fillable. Samuel’s spirit occupied most of the space anyway. Abe found a spot at the end of a couch and Samuel settled into what seemed like his own reserved armchair next to him. They were positioned in front of a window that displayed the backyard. It was sprawling with even more pots and flowerbeds alongside piles of leaves.

“So, how is school going?” Samuel asked as his hands folded in his lap so Abe could tell that he was about to receive the man’s full attention.

“Out for the next few days,” Abe stated with quiet relief. The more he thought the larger the shadow of his date back to class loomed over him.

Just as Samuel opened his mouth to say more, footsteps interrupted from the hallway.

“The stuffing’s done—” Robert’s bland tone started, but sharply halted with an audible inhale.

Abe’s attention snapped to Robert standing in the doorway he’d just come through. A deer in headlights was what he found, but instead of fear keeping him still, it was anger. Abe froze in turn, his mouth open to say something while the leftover smile from talking with Samuel faded. Maybe he was going to spit out an apology, he just didn’t know. Either way, his expression melted into something more sensitive. Samuel offered no such sensitivity.

“Robert! Just in time! Abraham has only just arrived!” The man pushed himself up by the armrests of his chair, tone sounding a little exaggerated and movements rushed. “I’ll check on the food and leave you two—”

“No.” Robert’s eyes were now fixed on his father, avoiding Abe at all cost as if he weren’t even there to begin with. His tone was stern. He began to turn and walk back the way he came. As he did so, he gave one last look to Abe, just a flash of fire that stung. “I’ll be in the kitchen.”

All the oxygen in the room was immediately sucked out as the door closed with a thud. Abe might disappear. If he was smart, he would. Carbon Dioxide filled this vacuum as the older Townsend sighed. His hands were firm on his hips and his gaze was on the carpet. He looked like he felt he had a lot of work to do, his brow knitting together. It was a curious sight to Abe. Samuel had brought him here to see Robert, that much was clear. But why? What could be gained from changing Robert’s very much set mind on the situation and on Abe?

After a moment of tense silence, Samuel turned to Abe again, his expression apologizing for his son. When he spoke, it was with an intended reassurance that Abe didn’t understand, “I’ll go talk to him.”

“You don’t have to—” Abe began, but Samuel gave him no room to argue.

“No,” he started. He took a second to think, as if coming up with an excuse, finally settling, “He knows to be respectful to guests.”

“Really, if he doesn’t want me here I’ll just—”

“No, Abraham. He just needs… encouragement.”

That didn’t sit right in his stomach. He swallowed to cool the bubbling of some emotional furnace down. Robert had to be encouraged like he was a hostage in his own house with a man he didn’t want to speak to ever again. Perhaps going back to Setauket would have been less awkward. At least then he wouldn’t be ruining his own family’s dinner.

Samuel disappeared behind the doorway as well, leaving Abe to try to find warmth in the vacuum as he drifted further into the universe from the spaceship of the couch he’d sunken into. All he could hear in space was not screams, but incomprehensible, raspy whispers of a faux-civil conversation from wherever the kitchen was and the stressed clang of setting dishes that Abe could tell was Robert.

 

* * *

 

 

Dinner was another story, one that Abe dreaded. There was plenty of food, more than the three could possibly eat together. The plan had obviously been to feed more guests. Even with their surplus and the delicious smell that saturated the air, it seemed all they could swallow was the palpable spite that radiated off of one particular man across from Abe at the table. Robert’s eyes burned holes in his food that he very aggressively cut and bit into. Abe assumed it was the only thing keeping him from doing the same to him. In fact, since that first interaction, it seemed that Robert’s hadn’t looked directly at Abe at all.

“It seems we have some extra food,” Samuel said lightheartedly in hopes to begin some form of conversation.

Robert still didn’t look up, but his voice was sharper than the knife he sawed into the turkey, “That’s because you decided to make it all even after Solomon decided his company was more important and Sally called to tell you she’s staying with whoever she has her eye on this year—"

Robert was interrupted by Samuel’s rough cough. He sighed, his disdain clearly evident for everyone to hear. Abe knew the names from what Robert had told him in the glory days of the coffee shop. They were siblings he spoke about in passing. Those conversations never seemed to last long and Abe never pressed, just changed the subject to whatever he had wanted to say. Robert’s knife tore through his piece again, gliding through soft meat and hitting the plate with a gross squeak. Nails on a chalkboard that echoed in their silence.

Abe decided to change the subject back to the original, “It’s perfect. You might have to stop me from eating it all.”

His tone had attempted to be warm but fell flat as the coals had almost died out in his belly and his tone was weaker than expected. Small talk never seemed genuine to Abe, but he was usually good enough at playing the part after years practicing at his father’s countless, useless dinner parties. With the Townsends he was hoping he’d be better, some sense that he wanted to impress. Maybe because it was personal.

Abe looked to Robert quickly, just to see the contrast from Samuel’s polite, slightly grateful smile. Robert just rolled his eyes as if Abe were unfairly humoring his father and took another bite of turkey. Abe looked down at his own plate to escape. His fork came down on a mixture of meat and carbs that he shoved down so he wouldn’t have to speak for a second.

It was quiet for another few moments. Only the sound of forks and knives against porcelain plates remained to keep time from completely stilling. The welcome, familial Thanksgiving that Abe had tricked himself into hoping for obviously had not been the end result. Abe wondered if that was the fault of Robert’s anger or just himself. A lot of Thanksgivings seemed to have been stained because of Abe and the sick feeling of spreading his curse for yet another year gave him a bitter taste he begged wouldn’t bubble up to the surface.

Robert, surprisingly, is the one to speak first, “So, when will you be going, Abra—”

Abe looked at him sharply as he began his full name, interrupting and making Robert stop himself. They both spent a second looking at each other, remembering Abe’s rant during their last night together at the shop. Robert not saying the full thing seemed like something of a kindness, but he still punctuated his sentence with a harsh look to indicate he was done.

“After dinner, I thought,” Abe answered softly as he looked back down at his plate and took another bite of mashed potatoes.

“Oh, no,” Samuel butted in again and Abe and Robert both remembered he was there. The latter turned his glare over to his father. “You can’t drive all the way back tonight! Imagine the traffic! And I heard it’s going to rain! No, you can’t drive in that.”

Shivers ran down his spine as Abe’s lips parted to protest. He thought of a dark, dangerous road as he raced back to Columbia. The drive was eerie familiar to him in a way that evoked the deepest discomfort. So, he bit down, swallowed, and sighed. “Thank you.”

Robert looked like he had caught a plague, which Abe guest the man would probably consider a comparable ailment. Abe said nothing more and didn’t look at Robert again.

 

* * *

 

It did not rain, despite the forecast that Abe had looked up at least five times since dinner.

Samuel had lit the gas fireplace at some point in the evening and had given Abe instructions to turn it off when Abe decided to go to bed. The older man had checked out early with an over-the-top yawn as he left Abe and Robert alone in the living room. Robert excused himself soon after but gave it a healthy 30 seconds after Samuel left, not giving Abe the kindness of even a pretend polite tone.

He was left alone, sitting on the couch, watching the fire flicker and time drain all too slow. He wished he was just as energetic as the flames that jumped in their little, confined area. They looked for somewhere to spread. Abe, in contrast, sat lazily on the plush, suffocating couch in the large vacuum, spread out as far as he could but never being able to fill the room like before nor the concaved hole in his chest. It was so cliché to feel so hollow and sorry for himself, but it was a dull, numb nibble he was all too familiar with to be surprised, only mad that he was so predictably sad.

The lagged effects of the glasses of wine he’d had earlier caught up to him as he wasted away. All the men had their small amount. Even Robert, who didn’t drink, took the opportunity of the holiday and his unexpected guest to have a glass or two. Abe remembered Robert telling him about his sobriety as Abe talked about antics he and his friends had pulled over the years. He had insisted Robert reveal his own embarrassing drunken story as a trade. Now it seemed like less of a special occasion and more of an excuse to have his attention on anything other than Abe.

A thin fog covered Abe’s thoughts as they drifted away, starting with that old memory of their conversation. Abe had been thinking about those little moments with Robert a lot lately, but he’d been good at shutting them down as soon as they floated into his head. When he couldn’t sleep at night he would realize with frustration that they were the only recent memories worth recounting.

Now, sitting in the Townsend house, he didn’t stop them. He didn’t have the motivation and he wasn’t busy enough to distract himself. He let the little bits of conversation flow through his mind again, like it was healing. It was like meditation, only the kind that made the hollow in his chest long for nostalgic late nights and early mornings and afternoons to laugh during. Somewhere along the way, he fell out of time, only to be pulled back into it as he heard a huff at the entrance of the living room and, “Oh. I didn’t know you were still awake.”

Abe turned to see Robert in the doorframe, slightly more hunched than normal. Still, Robert was never one to look physically tired. Abe guessed it was a habit picked up from working long hours doing customer service. The lines on his faces indicated an annoyance that was still very much awake even if both of them weren’t entirely.

Abe shrugged in response, tired himself. He sunk a little further into the couch, readjusting to find another comfortable position to tell Robert he had no intention of moving. “Should I not be?”

“It’s late.”

“I’ve been up later.”

He surprised himself with his curt response. It was uncomfortable. All day he had been made to feel like an intruder and mostly that seemed true. But the wine taste was now sour in his mouth. The adverted glances stung, left the wall of his chest empty. Abe had never really reacted correctly to anything, he was infamous of that. So anger replaced the sting as licks of fire began to try to climb inside him again. Robert’s stiff indirectness with him from all day seemed to burn now which was not like the cold, stone man Abe knew him to be.

“I know,” he said, finally. It was much softer than Abe had expected.

Robert Townsend was the biggest enigma on the planet. Abe was convinced of that. The hard marble of his voice seemed to melt but not because he was yielding to Abe’s anger, not shrinking away from it. It was almost in reaction to it. His motivation for softening puzzled Abe but it wasn’t a puzzle he was allowed to solve.

This Thanksgiving would be the last time he would see the Townsends and he was trying so hard to convince himself that was a good thing. With that maddening, slight tonal shift it was beginning to be more and more difficult to do so. Abe pushed away conclusions he was jumping to. Imaginations of that inflection being used by Roberts on nights that weren’t so hostile pounced on him, but he shook his head of those.

Instead, he crossed his arms over his chest as if protecting it or keeping it from bursting. He heaved a heavy sigh, keeping it as quiet as the night air. They both just sat, or, in Robert’s case, stood in their place. They were in the dollhouse Abe had played with at Anna’s house when they were small; frozen in time. And it was terrifying.

“Do you want me to go up now?” Abe said. It was so loud. It was a crack in time.

Then, an impossibly long pause. When Abe looked at Robert he was thinking. He wasn’t angry, just thinking. It was a sad kind of pensive. Abe knew Robert never liked looking confused, some kind of weakness, but the dim light hit his face and accentuated the new lines there. Some that Abe had never gotten to see before.

“Do what you like,” was Robert’s final, curt response. It left something to be desired, but Abe didn’t know what he had wanted. After all, how could he have expected anything more from Robert? How could he have expected anything different?

Even so, Abe found he didn’t want to leave. He certainly didn’t want to stay either, so it was more like his limbs were stuck. His joins frozen in their doll-like structure. He wanted to see how this story ended if only to stop being emotionally taxed in Robert’s needless suspense.

After another long period of silence, he spoke, “I’m sorry. About what happened. At the stop, I mean. And sorry for showing up.”

The words were painfully pushed from his throat while _“I’m sorry for being a fucking idiot”_ was held back. It was always hard to admit he was wrong. Even though he didn’t know why, it obviously needed to be said.

Looking up again, an angry crease had appeared at Robert’s brow. It wasn’t pointed at Abe, instead at the carpet. His arms were also crossed and his crease matched the ones created at his sleeves as he gripped his arms. But he didn’t say anything and Abe couldn’t handle the cold.

“I’ll stay out of your way.” Abe’s voice was less apologetic and more hurt. He felt like he needed some undeserved justice. He stood to leave and Robert’s eyes fell even lower, his expression softening. His shoulders slumped and Abe assumed it was because he was relieved.

Just as Abe turned he heard, “My father likes you.”

It was quiet, even quiet for Robert. Abe humored him by turning.

“Can’t imagine why,” Robert added sharply, shaking his head.

“Yeah…I sort of got that from him inviting me here…” Abe made it clear that what Robert was saying didn’t make any sense. “Sorry. I guess I don’t really know what you want me to say.”

Robert looked up at him now and by the depths of his eyes, they seemed so far away from each other. Robert took a small step forward and then another until they were what Abe imagined the distance between them had been at the coffee shop. Robert didn’t fill that small space this time, simply looking down at Abe. Abe was caught in his eyes again, drowning in his pupils, and he seemed more confused than ever and scared on top of that.

This little though clicked in Abe’s mind. Little thoughts for Abe often grew into something dangerous so he wondered if he should ask what he wanted to. This time he feared the consequences if he assumed wrong again.

But then again, Abe would never see this man again. If something went wrong, he could leave and feel sorry for himself alone. He could wallow for a month and throw himself into his studies and hopefully not fail. He could whine to Caleb about how alone he felt and how dating sucks as they had after every failed relationship of teenage Abe’s.

“Do you want to do it again?” It was so hilariously adolescent, but also so much softer and kinder than he’d intended. His lips were relaxed.

They looked at each other and in time with one another, their eyes began to close. They tilted their heads and contorted their bodies to eventually fit around each other. It was in slow motion compared to the fast-paced event in the coffee shop. In fact, that seemed even less significant than what they were doing now. It wasn’t rushed, it was savored.

It was unpracticed and unprecise, but it was also soft and careful, totally treasured. Abe guided Robert’s hands to his hips and his own climbed Robert’s chest to his face as they became closer and closer, more connected.

They stopped, the silence, for once that night, became bearable. Robert then stilled, growing back into his stiff self. His hands didn’t move. He just looked down at Abe and for once his feelings were written all across his face. He was afraid. Abe knew that fear, the fear of fucking something up. But, Abe was obviously more well-versed in impulsivity and knew it’s remedy. He smiled, plain and simple, a look that could tell Robert that it was okay. Nothing had been broken.

“I’m sorry—”

Abe was ready to do the interrupting. “Don’t be. Thank you.”

Robert looked stiff and uncomfortable, unsure of what to do. This was new territory for him. Abe wasn’t entirely sure where to go from here so the man wouldn’t actually dissolve in front of his eyes. His hands migrated to Robert’s shoulders.

After a moment, Robert nodded as if agreeing with himself, “Follow me.”

And so he did after remembering to turn off the fireplace and laughing about almost forgetting. Robert smiled, just a little, but present, endeared. They walked up the stairs to the top floor. Robert’s steps were quiet and Abe tried to match like they were sneaking around. From what, they didn’t know. The halls were dark but not unpleasantly so. Nothing could get Abe now. The feverish beat of his heart wasn’t from fear or anxiety. It was adrenaline, not knowing what was coming next but knowing it was good.

Finally, they came to a door like every other in the hallway. Abe didn’t have a lot of time to study the contents of the inside after the door closed behind him. They were already on each other again.

Of course, the whole process of sleeping the night in Robert Townsend’s bed was clumsily handled by both of them. It started with more of what had happened downstairs; heads tilted to accommodate each other, gentle hands, even gentler lips. All very cliché, but slow and careful. And they stumbled, both in the literal and figurative sense. It wasn’t very serious, it felt juvenile.

That might be why Abe didn’t mind the pace so much. For Robert, it was obviously a first. Maybe not his first kiss, but it seemed like the first time it meant something. He grew less scared than he had been in the shop or the living room, more confident that he was doing the right thing and just so happy about it. And for Abe, it was like starting over. For once something didn’t have to be fast and he didn’t have to be something he wasn’t.

Robert’s quiet, “You can stay with me for the night…if you want to…” made something tighten in his chest that lingered for the rest of the night.

When he opened his eyes the next morning, it was a little darker than his dreams. The curtains were drawn to keep the sun out, but when he looked over, it was the same. He was curled up next to Robert, who looked totally at peace. With that, he fell back asleep.

Hours later, he woke up again, this time with the curtains wide open. Breakfast was waiting for him downstairs. As he approached the dining room Robert and Samuel were talking. From what he heard, it wasn’t about him, but Samuel had this knowing smile as Abe inhaled his eggs and bacon. They talked and laughed, prolonged the meal until Abe had to go back, smiling the whole drive home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it's been almost a year. I'm incredibly sorry about that! I am determined to finish that, no matter how long it takes, I promise. I don't know if anyone is still reading, but I really appreciate anyone who is!  
> What's to come-  
> Abe's still struggles with a few things, but now he has an ally. Even with Thanksgiving gone, Christmas is still soon and Richard expects Abe there no matter what.


End file.
